Kampen was a beautiful gard. It lay in the midst of a plain, bordered
below by the Kamp gorge, and above by the parish road; on the opposite
side of the road was a thick wood, a little farther beyond, a rising
mountain ridge, and behind this the blue, snow-capped mountains. On the
other side of the gorge there was also a broad mountain range, which
first entirely surrounded Black Water on the side where Boeen lay, then
grew higher toward Kampen, but at the same time turned aside to make way
for the broad basin called the lower parish, and which began just below,
for Kampen was the last gard in the upper parish.
The front door of the dwelling-house was turned toward the road; it was
probably about two thousand paces off; a path with leafy birch-trees on
either side led thither. The wood lay on both sides of the clearing; the
fields and meadows could, therefore, extend as far as the owners
themselves wished; it was in all respects a most excellent gard. A
little garden lay in front of the house. Arne managed it as his books
directed. To the left were the stables and other out-houses. They were
nearly all new built, and formed a square opposite the dwelling-house.
The latter was painted red, with white window-frames and doors, was two
stories high, thatched with turf, and small shrubs grew on the roof; the
one gable had a vane staff, on which turned an iron cock, with high,
spread tail.
Spring had come to the mountain districts. It was a Sunday morning;
there was a little heaviness in the air, but it was calm and without
frost; mist hung over the wood, but Margit thought it would lift during
the day. Arne had read the sermon for his mother and sung the hymns,
which had done him good; now he was in full trim, ready to go up to the
parsonage. He opened the door, the fresh perfume of the leaves was
wafted toward him, the garden lay dew-covered and bowed by the morning
mist, and from the Kamp gorge there came a roaring, mingled at intervals
with mighty booms, making everything tremble to the ear and the eye.
Arne walked upward. The farther he got from the force the less
awe-inspiring became its roar, which finally spread itself like the deep
tones of an organ over the whole landscape.
"The Lord be with him on his way!" said the mother, opening the window
and looking after him until the shrubbery closed about him. The fog
lifted more and more, the sun cut through it; there was life now about
the fields and in the garden; all Arne's work sprouted out in fresh
growth, sending fragrance and joy up to the mother. Spring is lovely to
those who long have been surrounded by winter.
Arne had no fixed errand at the parsonage, but still he wanted to learn
about the papers he and the priest took together. Recently he had seen
the names of several Norsemen who had done remarkably well digging gold
in America, and among them was Kristian. Now Arne had heard a rumor that
Kristian was expected home. He could, no doubt, get information about
this at the parsonage,--and if Kristian had really returned, then Arne
would go to him in the interval between spring and haying time. This was
working in his mind until he had advanced so far that he could see Black
Water, and Boeen on the other side. The fog had lifted there, too; the
sun was playing on the green, the mountain loomed up with shining peak,
but the fog was still lying in its lap; the wood darkened the water on
the right side, but in front of the house the ground was more flat, and
its white sand glittered in the sunshine. Suddenly his thoughts sped to
the red-painted building with white doors and window-frames, that he had
had in mind when he painted his own. He did not remember those first
gloomy days he had passed there; he only thought of that bright summer
they had both seen, he and Eli, up beside her sick-bed. Since then he
had not been to Boeen, nor would he go there, not for the whole world. If
only his thoughts barely touched on it, he grew crimson and abashed; and
yet this happened again every day, and many times a day. If there was
anything which could drive him out of the parish, it was just this!
Onward he went, as though he would flee from his thoughts, but the
farther he walked the nearer opposite Boeen he came, and the more he
gazed upon it. The fog was entirely gone, the sky clear from one
mountain outline to the other, the birds sailed along and called aloud
to one another in the glad sunny air, the fields responded with millions
of flowers; the Kamp force did not here compel gladness to bow the knee
in submission and awe, but buoyant and frolicsome it tumbled over,
singing, twinkling, rejoicing without end!
Arne had walked till he was in a glowing heat; he flung himself down in
the grass at the foot of a hill, looked over towards Boeen, then turned
away to avoid seeing it. Presently he heard singing above him, pure and
clear, as song had never sounded to him before; it floated out over the
meadow, mingled with the chattering of the birds, and he was scarcely
sure of the tune before he recognized the words too,--for the tune was
his favorite one, and the words were those that had been working in his
mind from the time he was a boy, and forgotten the same day he had
brought them forth! He sprang up as though he would catch them, then
paused and listened; here came the first stanza, here came the second,
here came the third and the fourth of his own forgotten song streaming
down to him:--
"Oh, how I wonder what I should see
Over the lofty mountains!
Snow here shuts out the view from me,
Round about stands the green pine-tree,
Longing to hasten over--
Dare it become a rover?
"Soars the eagle with strong wing play,
Over the lofty mountains;
Rows through the young and vigorous day
Sating his courage in quest of prey;
When he will swooping downward,
Tow'rd far-off lands gazing onward.
"Leaf-heavy apple, wilt thou not go
Over the lofty mountains?
Forth putting buds 'mid summer's glow,
Thou wilt till next time wait, I know;
All of these birds art swinging,
Knowing not what they're singing.
"He who for twenty years longed to flee
Over the lofty mountains,
Nor beyond them can hope to see,
Smaller each year feels himself to be;
Hears what the birds are singing,
Thou art with confidence swinging.
"Bird, with thy chatt'ring, what wouldst thou here
Over the lofty mountains?
Fairer the lands beyond must appear,
Higher the trees and the skies far more clear.
Wouldst thou but longing be bringing,
Bird, but no wings with thy singing?
"Shall I the journey never take
Over the lofty mountains?
Must my poor thoughts on this rock-wall break?
Must it a dread, ice-bound prison make,
Shutting at last in around me,
Till for my tomb it surround me?
"Forth will I! forth! Oh, far, far away,
Over the lofty mountains!
I will be crushed and consumed if I stay;
Courage tow'rs up and seeks the way,
Let it its flight now be taking,
Not on this rock-wall be breaking!
"One day I know I shall wander afar
Over the lofty mountains!
Lord, my God, is thy door ajar?
Good is thy home where the blessed are;
Keep it though closed a while longer,
Till my deep longing grow stronger."[25]
Arne stood still until the last verse, the last word, had died away.
Again he heard the birds sporting and twittering, but he knew not
whether he himself dared stir. Find out who had been singing, though, he
must; he raised his foot and trod so carefully that he could not hear
the grass rustle. A little butterfly alighted on a flower, directly at
his feet, had to start up again, flew only a little piece farther, had
to start up again, and so on all over the hill as he crept cautiously
up. Soon he came to a leafy bush, and cared to go no farther, for now he
could see. A bird flew up from the bush, gave a startled cry and darted
over the sloping hill-side, and then she who was sitting within view
looked up. Arne stooped far down, holding his breath, his heart
throbbing so wildly that he heard its every beat, listening, not daring
to move a leaf, for it was, indeed, she,--it was Eli whom he saw!
After a long, long while, he looked up just a little, and would gladly
have drawn a step nearer but he thought the bird might perhaps have its
nest under the bush, and was afraid he would tread on it. He peered out
between the leaves as they blew aside and closed together again. The sun
shone directly on her. She wore a black dress without sleeves,[26] and
had a boy's straw hat perched lightly on her head, and slanting a little
to one side. In her lap lay a book, and on it a profusion of wild
flowers; her right hand was dreamily toying with them; in her left,
which rested on her knee, her head was bowed. She was gazing in the
direction of the bird's flight, and it really seemed as though she had
been weeping.
Anything more lovely Arne had neither seen nor dreamed of in his whole
life; the sun, too, had scattered all its gold over her and the spot
where she was sitting, and the song still floated about her, although
its last notes had long since been sung, so that he thought,
breathed--aye, even his heart beat in time to it.
She took up the book and opened it, but soon closed it again and sat as
before, beginning to hum something else. It was, "The tree's early
leaf-buds were bursting their brown." He knew it at once, although she
did not quite remember either the words or the tune, and made many
mistakes. The stanza she knew best was the last one, therefore she often
repeated it; but she sang it thus:--
"The tree bore its berries, so mellow and red:
'May I gather thy berries?' a sweet maiden said.
'Yes, dear; all thou canst see;
Take them; all are for thee;'
Said the tree--trala-lala, trala, lala--said."[27]
Then suddenly she sprang up, scattering the flowers all around her, and
sang aloud, so that the tune, as it quivered through the air, could
easily be heard all the way over to Boeen. And then she ran away. Should
he call after her? No! There she went skipping over the hills, singing,
trolling; her hat fell off, she picked it up again; and then she stood
still in the midst of the tallest grass.
"Shall I call after her? She is looking round!"
He quickly stooped down. It was a long while before he dared peep forth
again; at first he only raised his head; he could not see her: then he
drew himself up on his knees, and still could not see her; finally, he
got all the way up. No, she was gone! He no longer wanted to go to the
parsonage. He wanted nothing!
Later he sat where she had been sitting, still sat there until the sun
drew near the meridian. The lake was not ruffled by a single ripple; the
smoke from the gards began to curl upward; the land-rails, one after
another, had ceased their call; the small birds, though, continued their
sportive gambols, but withdrew to the wood; the dew was gone and the
grass looked sober; not a breath of wind stirred the leaves; it was
about an hour from noon. Arne scarcely knew how it was that he found
himself seated there, weaving together a little song; a sweet melody
offered itself for it, and into a heart curiously full of all that was
gentle, the tune came and went until the picture was complete. He sang
the song calmly as he had made it:--
"He went in the forest the whole day long,
The whole day long;
For there he had heard such a wonderful song,
A wonderful song.
"He fashioned a flute from a willow spray,
A willow spray,
To see if within it the sweet tune lay,
The sweet tune lay.
"It whispered and told him its name at last,
Its name at last;
But then, while he listened, away it passed,
Away it passed.
"But oft when he slumbered, again it stole,
Again it stole,
With touches of love upon his soul,
Upon his soul.
"Then he tried to catch it, and keep it fast,
And keep it fast;
But he woke, and away in the night it passed,
In the night it passed.
"'My Lord, let me pass in the night, I pray,
In the night, I pray;
For the tune has taken my heart away,
My heart away.'
"Then answered the Lord, 'It is thy friend
It is thy friend,
Though not for an hour shall thy longing end,
Thy longing end;
"'And all the others are nothing to thee,
Nothing to thee,
To this that thou seekest and never shalt see,
Never shalt see.'"[28]