It is not alone in Bohemia’s mountainous regions that the romantic
characters are found which form the basis of Weber’s immortal fictions.
Similar traditions are current in many lands, especially in ours, one
of which we will now relate.
In the artless fancy of the peasantry the means of acquiring the power
of unerring aim are many, the most usual by compact with the Fairies or
Wood Nymphs. While the compact lasts the possessor, sitting at his hut
door, needs only to wish, and the game of his choice springs into view,
and within range of his never-failing gun. Such a compact, however,
invariably ends in the destruction of the hunter.
Many years ago there was a watchman up in the Göinge regions, a wild
fellow, who, one evening, while drinking with his neighbors, more tipsy
and more talkative as the hour grew late, boasted loudly of his
marksmanship, and offered to wager that, with his trusty gun, he could
give them such an exhibition of skill as they had never before seen.
“There goes, as I speak,” said he, “a roe on Halland’s Mountains.”
His companions laughed at him, not believing that he could know what
was transpiring at a distance of several miles, which was the least
that lay between them and the spot indicated.
“I will wager you that I need go no farther than the door to shoot him
for you,” persevered the watchman in defiant tones.
“Nonsense!” said the others.
“Come, will you wager something worth the while? Say two cans of ale.”
“Done! Two cans of ale, it shall be.” And the company betook themselves
to the yard in front of the hut.
It was a frosty autumn evening. The wind chased the clouds over the
sky, and the half moon cast fitful reflections through the breaks over
the neighborhood. In a few minutes a something was seen moving rapidly
along the edge of a thicket on the farther side of a little glade. The
watchman threw his gun carelessly to his shoulder and fired. A derisive
laugh was echo to the report. No mortal, thought they, in such
uncertain light and at such a distance, could shoot a deer in flight.
The watchman, certain of his game, hastened across the glade, followed
by his companions, to whom the event meant, at least, two cans of ale.
It would not be easy to picture the surprise of the doubters, when,
upon arriving at the thicket, they discovered, lying upon the ground,
bathed in foam and his tongue hanging from his mouth, a magnificent
stag, pierced through the heart by the deadly bullet, his life blood
fast coloring his bed of autumn leaves a brighter hue.
What unseen power has brought this poor animal from Halland’s Mountains
in a bare half hour? Such were the thoughts of the watchman’s
companions as they retired in silence to the hut.
The watchman received his two cans of ale, but no one seemed inclined
to join him in disposing of them. They now understood with what sort of
a man they were having to do. It was evident to them that the watchman
was in league with the Evil One himself, and they henceforth guarded
themselves carefully against companionship with him after dark.