Many years ago a dancing society of Brästa, a village in the parish of
Stora Mellösa, planned a great Christmas festival, to which, on the
appointed day, old and young flocked from far and near, knowing that
Sexton Kant, of Norrbyås, would be there with his fiddle, and assured
that fun would run riot. Kant, it is related, was no ordinary fiddler,
not a little proud of his skill, and ready at the least word of praise
to laud himself to the skies.
When the merry making had gone well into the night and the pleasures
were at their height, some one remarked that not many could measure
themselves with Father Kant, when he let the bow leap over the strings
and played in “four voices,” as he himself called it. Nothing further
was needed. Kant, always ready to begin where the others left off,
declared that the devil, good player as he was reputed to be, could not
compete with him in the waltz which they had just heard. This boast
came near costing Kant dear. When the dance ended and he set out in the
night on his way home, he met, near the hill of Bjurbäcka, a young
woman clad in white, who saluted him and addressed him as follows:
“If you will play a polka for me, Father Kant, I will dance for you.”
So said, so done. Father Kant sat himself upon a stone and applied the
bow to the strings of the instrument. Instantly he lost all control of
himself. Such a polka as now came from his fiddle he had never expected
to hear, much less play. The tones seemed to come without help from
him. The bow bounded over the strings and his arm was forced to follow.
One melody followed another; his arm became numb, but the music
continued in the same wild measure.
Kant now understood that something was wrong. Finally he burst forth:
“God forgive me, poor sinner. What have I brought upon myself?”
Upon the instant the fiddle strings parted, and an awful-sounding laugh
was heard from the brook at the foot of the hill. Heavy of heart, Kant
hastened homeward, acknowledging to himself that the devil, after all,
was his superior. For a long time he could not be persuaded to again
take up his fiddle, but, when he finally complied, he found that one of
the beautiful waltzes he had played on the eventful night had fastened
itself upon his memory, and he acquired greater renown than before as a
fiddler.