THE MAGIC PANCAKE
Late on New Year’s Eve the Pastor’s daughter came walking down the
hill-side to the brewhouse-room where her Grandmother, Fru Beata Spaak,
had lived for many a long year.
She was leading Little-Maid by the hand, and you could hear them
coming, a long way off, by the little shrill screams they uttered every
time they lost the path and stepped into the snow-drift at the edge. It
was foggy and pitch dark, without the least glimmer from moon or stars,
and, but for the tiny glint of light through Grandmother’s shutters,
they could scarcely have groped their way to the brewhouse.
That Christmas there had been so dreadfully many feasts both for rich
and poor that the days had been only too short for them all. The Pastor
and his wife had even been obliged to go away on New Year’s Eve, but
Mamsell Maia Lisa had not gone with them as she usually did.
She had been ordered to stay at home and see that the men and maids
were properly provided with the same quantity of fish and porridge as
on Christmas Eve, just as if the old housekeeper could not have managed
it all quite well.
But, in spite of this, the Pastor’s daughter was in very good spirits.
A good part of the afternoon she had been telling tales and singing
folk-songs to Little-Maid, who had surely never enjoyed herself so
much before. After supper, Mamsell Maia Lisa had point-blank refused
to go to bed. She said, on New Year’s Eve, she would, at any rate, try
to peep a little into the future before she went to sleep. Wouldn’t
Little-Maid like to help make a magic pancake?
Little-Maid had no idea what a magic pancake was, but she said “yes” at
once, and she would have said the same even if Mamsell Maia Lisa had
invited her to help make a viper soup.
“But you mustn’t speak nor laugh all the time we are making it,” said
the Pastor’s daughter, “and you mustn’t spill on to the floor the least
drop of water or grain of flour or salt.”
“What is there hard in that?” said Little-Maid. She could keep from
talking or laughing as long as ever she wanted.
But then came the difficulty that there must be three to help in the
making, and the Pastor’s daughter had no idea where she was to find the
third.
They went into the kitchen and asked if there was anyone there who
would help make a magic pancake. But the maids only threw up their
hands and declined when they heard the question.
They had done enough of that in their day. After they had eaten the
magic pancake, they had had neither sleep nor dreams, and they were not
going to be tempted to try such a dish again!
The Pastor’s daughter stood and thought and thought.
“We shall have to go down and ask Grandmother to help us,” she said.
And this was why they were out on that dark New Year’s Eve picking
their way amongst the snow-drifts. But the Pastor’s daughter thought
it only fitting that a New Year’s Eve should be pitchy dark, a true
picture of that future which no eye can pierce.
Grandmother lived in a garret room above the brewhouse. How hard it was
to climb the stairway, built out, as it was, from the wall, with its
narrow steep steps so slippery now with trampled snow that to tread on
them was almost to risk one’s life.
But everyone had to get used to the dark at Lövdala, for the Pastor’s
wife allowed no lights except in the dairy and stable. However,
Grandmother must have heard them coming, for when they were half-way
up the stair she set the door wide open. And she had her branched
candlestick alight on the table before the sofa and the fire crackling
in the stove.
Grandmother was tall and thin and looked delicate. She was not at all
like the Pastor’s daughter in face, nor could she very well be, for
she was only her Mother’s stepmother. But she was just as fond of her
as if she had been her own flesh and blood. It seemed as though Fru
Beata had some special art of her own, for whatever it might be like
in other places, in her home it was always warm, bright, and tidy. She
had but the one room, where she lived and slept; but her bed, with its
white curtains hanging down from a gilded curtain-rod, was an ornament
in itself, and the same might be said of her bright little copper pans
and china plates and dishes in the corner cupboard. She was refined and
graceful herself; but her hands were so tortured with gout, that her
fingers were twisted and stiff; so twisted, indeed, that it was no easy
matter to shake hands with her, for it was almost impossible to get a
firm hold of them.
The Pastor’s daughter told their errand, and Grandmother, with a smile,
promised her help. There was someone she was just expecting, and she
would like to know if he was coming next year.
It was best, of course, to stay in Grandmother’s room and make the
pancake there. First they took down a dish out of the little corner
cupboard behind the stove, all three holding on to the edge and
putting it on the little kitchen table. Then they must get a wooden
spoon, so all three went to the little corner cupboard which served as
Grandmother’s china pantry, all three held the spoon-handle, and laid
it on the dish. Next they poured in three spoonfuls of water which
all three fetched from the great copper pitcher, and no one spoke or
laughed as they went about their work.
That done, three spoonfuls of flour had to go into the water. All three
held the spoon as they dipped it into the flour-tub, all three lifted
it up, and emptied the flour into the water. No one left hold of the
spoon, no one spoke, no one laughed, and no one let the least grain of
flour drop to the ground. Then they added three spoonfuls of salt, and
again not a word, nor a laugh, nor a single grain spilt.
But will you believe that when they had got as far as that Grandmother
asked if it must be put straightway into the frying-pan!
The moment she asked the question, down went the spoon, and the
Pastor’s daughter threw herself on a chair and laughed and laughed.
Little-Maid kept her fingers on it indeed, but was so overcome with the
fun that she had to fall on the floor and have her laugh out there!
Grandmother’s lips twitched a little too; perhaps the words wouldn’t
have slipped out if she had not remembered of old that there was no fun
at all in making a dream pancake, unless some such little misfortune
happened. And she liked to see the Pastor’s daughter forget all her
troubles and have a little laugh.
And when they had laughed their fill they set about their work once
more, for nothing that they had prepared was of any more use, and they
had to begin again from the beginning. But that was not so easy when
they were once well overcome with laughter.
First they poured three spoonfuls of water into the dish. They got no
farther before they burst out laughing again. The Pastor’s daughter
was the worst. Little-Maid was not nearly so bad as she. But for fully
five minutes more they were helpless with merriment. Then the Pastor’s
daughter told the others that they really must behave properly or the
magic pancake would not be ready till all hours of the night.
“I fancy we shall manage,” said Grandmother, “if only you can be
serious yourself.”
First they put in the water, then the flour and then the salt, and
stirred it all up into a dough. All three held the spoon whilst they
stirred with never a word, never a laugh, nor the least drop spilt on
the floor. When they had rolled it into a pancake they laid it in the
frying-pan. And it didn’t look a bit tastier than the mess of meal that
fowls and pigs get for their breakfast. It was really not so good, for
it was quite stiff and hard, and glistening with all the salt they had
put in.
They put it on the fire and let one side cook and then turned it, all
holding the spoon, all helping to turn, and no one dropping it in the
cinders. At last it was ready and had to be eaten.
The Pastor’s daughter and Little-Maid were by this time so eager that
there was not the least danger of their laughing. They were too busy
thinking that now they might perhaps get a glimpse into the far future
to be willing to throw away such a great opportunity.
The dream pancake shone so with salt that it needed some courage to
taste it. But they divided it into three portions, and then ate them
as best they could. Little-Maid ate up her share, for she knew that
was the proper way, and she was very particular to carry out all
directions. Grandmother only tasted a tiny, tiny bit, and it is not
certain that she swallowed it either. The Pastor’s daughter ate just
one mouthful, for much as she wished to know the future, she was really
not able to get down a single crumb more. The two girls were both a
little disappointed in the magic pancake, but not a word did either of
them say. They only nodded good night to Grandmother as she stood in
the doorway silently lighting them down the stair.
They tore at full speed over the path up the garden, for the night no
longer seemed so dark and impenetrable as before, but rather as if
it was waiting to draw aside the veil, and show them all its hidden
secrets, but they dared not stay to look.
The maids were already in bed when they crept through the kitchen, but,
of course, they all asked them how they had got on, if they had dreamed
yet, and whom they had dreamt about. But all to no purpose, for not a
word was to be got out of them.
Little-Maid’s eyes closed as she lay down, and she slept till next
morning. When she did awake she had a salt taste in her mouth, but try
as she might she could not remember any dream at all. Grandmother did
not sleep at all, but next day she sat quiet and silent as though still
in a dream; it seemed as if she really must have learnt something.
Neither was the Pastor’s daughter able to get much sleep, for she had
been so parched with thirst, and yet it would never have done to drink
anything before she fell asleep--even a single drop would have spoilt
the whole charm. When she awoke in the morning she could not clearly
recollect if she had dreamt anything.
But, later in the day, she chanced to go out into the porch. And then
she stopped short, for she remembered that the night before in her
dream she had stood just on the same spot. And as she stood there two
strangers--an old man and a young--had come walking up the gravel path.
And the old one had said that he was Pastor Liliecrona, and had come
with his son to ask if she was thirsty and would like a drink of water.
And the young man had stepped forward at once with a glass of clear
fresh water in his hand, and offered it to her.
But when the Pastor’s daughter remembered this she was so filled with
amazement that she trembled in every limb. For if one thing is sure and
certain it is that he who steps forward and offers you water in your
dream after the magic pancake, he and he alone will in time to come be
your wedded husband.