A SPRING EVENING
The Pastor’s daughter was out one spring evening taking a walk with
Little-Maid. It was an old habit of hers to go out for a little every
evening and her stepmother had not forbidden it, only insisted that
Little-Maid should go too, for it was not fitting for a young girl
of her age to stroll about the country roads alone. She was going
southwards as usual, for the road was best in that direction, and so
slowly was she walking that Little-Maid found it hard work to put up
with such dragging footsteps. One moment she would hurry on in front,
and the next lag behind as far as she could, just to have the chance of
running herself out of breath to catch up Mamsell Maia Lisa. The road
wound up to the wooded heights that bounded the Lövdala lands. As the
Pastor’s daughter walked on she could not help thinking how strange
it was that Little-Maid could find so much to amuse her in the short
stretch of road that they tramped over every evening. First there was
the echo. Little-Maid ran up the avenue before her to get a little talk
with it. She knew it lived a little way up the road, exactly in front
of the Lövdala rye-barn, so there she stopped, turned to the barn wall,
and began to cry:
“Echo, echo, tell my fortune?” “Tell my fortune,” answered echo.
“Is my lover a very fine man?” “A very fine man,” answered echo.
“And has he very much money?” “Very much money,” answered echo.
“Is it all or nothing true?” “Nothing true,” answered echo.
The Pastor’s daughter herself had taught Little-Maid this a few months
ago, but all was so different then from now, when she had no strength
left to stand joking with echo.
Little-Maid kept by her side until they reached the small gravel-pit
lying to the left of the road, close under the mountain-side. There she
left the Pastor’s daughter, to jump down the pit and dig amongst the
fallen stones in search of mica. It was only when she had quite lost
sight of Mamsell Maia Lisa round the bend of the road that she came
racing after her. Then they went on again to the brook. Little-Maid
could never understand how the Pastor’s daughter could pass on without
even stopping to look at its waters rushing in a dark torrent from the
forest heights and making fall after fall, each finer than the last,
before it reached the level of the road. When it had foamed and roared
under the narrow bridge, it wanted to break its bounds again and spread
far and wide. But Little-Maid could not put up with that. Down she
hurried from the road to dig a dam and force the brook back into its
old bed again.
She would have been grateful if Mamsell Maia Lisa would have stopped
and helped her. But it was as much as the Pastor’s daughter could do to
get over even level ground, dragging herself along rather than really
walking. Other years she too had been quite ready to dam up the brook,
but then, indeed, she had been but a child. Suddenly she stopped,
for all at once she realised what had happened to her. She had grown
old, she had been robbed of youth and youth’s pleasures. The Pastor’s
daughter went on and on, and Little-Maid was forced to give up the
brook and run after her. It was not for long, however, that she kept on
the high road.
They came to a gate leading into a spinney, where Little-Maid had
heard white wood anemones were to be found. They were not ready yet,
but spring was so far advanced that there was hope of them any day
now. Little-Maid opened the gate just to peep in, for she had the
idea firmly fixed in her mind that this year she was to be the first
to bring white anemones home. As for the Pastor’s daughter, she was
walking along like an old, old body, not the least anxious to look for
spring flowers.
A few steps farther on Little-Maid had another good friend whom she
never failed to call upon. That was the owl that lived in the big
hollow birch, the largest tree in all Lövdala. When Little-Maid used
to poke a dry twig into his nest, out came his claw to push away the
bit of wood, so that she never saw any more of the owl than his great
claws. The Pastor’s daughter knew all about this, for she too in her
time had stopped to tease the owl. Now she could not understand how
there had ever been any fun in it at all.
As soon as they had passed the hollow birch, Little-Maid came running
up, and the Pastor’s daughter knew she would stick close enough to her
for a time. For now they had to go by the mossy old garden wall where
there was no lack of ghostly beings. Ah, how lovingly the Pastor’s
daughter looked back to the time when she too had been afraid of the
uncanny headless Pastor who might perchance be seen just here by the
stone wall!
It was uphill now, and Maia Lisa noticed that she was only going at
a snail’s pace, and felt as though she would never get to the top.
Farther than that she never went; for there, close to the edge of the
road, lay a great granite block called the Rest Stone, and she used to
sit down on it for a while. On the front of the stone a little seat
had been hollowed out, just big enough for her and Little-Maid to
squeeze in together. She closed her eyes and felt too utterly weary
to say a word, and Little-Maid kept silence too. Once the Pastor’s
daughter looked up, for she thought the child had run off again on some
new expedition. But no, there she sat, gently stroking a fold of Maia
Lisa’s dress as it lay across her knee.
Everything was so hard for the Pastor’s daughter, for her who ought to
inherit Lövdala and all the parish. She thought this poor child was
the only one who had not forsaken her. She felt so old and tired just
because everyone had left her, and as lonely as one whom death has
robbed of all her friends.
Since she had come back from Svanskog she had not met a single person
who wished her well or held out a helping hand. When she first came
from there every day she had expected someone to come and set her free
from all her troubles. She did not know who it would be or how they
would help her, but she felt so many wonders had happened during those
two days, that when they had once begun they could not fail to continue.
But, since then, day after day had passed and nothing had happened.
Weeks had followed weeks, all so much alike, that as she looked back
she could not distinguish one from another.
There was something peculiar and incomprehensible in the silence
around her. At times she fancied that events which concerned her
were happening far away in the world. She was surrounded by an echo
of voices; sometimes even she felt very worried because someone was
longing for her and wanting to reach her. But the whole of February,
March, and April had gone now and not a message or letter had she had
from those who were free to move about as they pleased and were not
shut up as she was in an iron cage. Now she began to realise that no
one was coming, and that she must fight her battle alone without any
helping hand. But how hard it was to give up all hope! She thought she
had won such strong kind friends, she still could not believe that they
did not trouble about her.
The old stone she was sitting on was said to have lain on the wayside
ever since the time when Lövdala had been nothing but a cow-house in
the midst of wild forest where the dairymaids came every summer with
their cows and goats. Then some young cattle-man had hollowed out a
seat in the stone block to give a resting-place to his sweetheart. From
the hill-top, where it lay, Löven and the church could be seen in the
far distance, and those who tended the cattle had no doubt sat there
many an evening looking for someone to come and fetch them from the
solitary pastures down to the homes of men again. When she sat here
she could always feel that many a longing soul had been there before
her. The Pastor’s daughter buried her head in her hands and sighed. If
anyone wanted to help her, they must come soon. She could not hold out
much longer; not that any disease had attacked her, but she was near
to death’s door from very sorrow and desolate loneliness. She would
certainly not be able to crawl up here many more times.
Besides, it was not only for herself that help and rescue were needed,
but for Lövdala too. The home whose every stone was dear to her heart
was on the high road to ruin. They had only reached the last days of
April, and it was cold for sitting still, so she began to go slowly
homewards, no longer thinking of herself, but only of Lövdala.
One Sunday towards the end of March her father had come home from
church with the news that Pastor Liliecrona had petitioned the King
to release him from his nomination to the living of Sjöskoga. When
he spoke of this at the dinner-table her cheeks had flamed in her
eagerness to hear more, and she had at once asked if dear father had
heard why he would not accept the high position. But her father could
not answer. He only knew that Pastor Liliecrona was doing much good
amongst his people, and he added that he must be a man of singular
merit to be able to refuse a competence, and a high social position as
well, to stay with those who needed him.
Her stepmother, too, had shown special interest in the news. She had
asked if it was really a fact that Liliecrona had now quite given up
Sjöskoga, and when she was assured that that was so, she had said
straight out in her abrupt fashion that in her opinion dear father
ought to try for it.
The Pastor had certainly not been very often at a loss in his life,
but now he sat speechless, staring at his wife. Indeed, he had almost
a frightened look, as if he felt it a misfortune that such an idea had
occurred to her. He was evidently no longer very sure that he had the
strength to say Fru Raklitz nay.
Maia Lisa was quite upset as well. She would have liked to think that
her stepmother was joking, if such a thing had been possible. And in
one way, of course, her idea was not so foolish. Maia Lisa herself had
often thought her father ought to be bishop at least, but since he had
had that stroke it would indeed be doing him the greatest wrong to urge
him to try for a large and burdensome living. Dear father had certainly
been much stronger lately, and now seemed almost his old self again,
but her stepmother could not fail to know that his strength was no
longer what it was before.
But Maia Lisa forced herself to keep silence. If she had ventured
to bring forward her objections, she would only have raised her
stepmother’s zeal to fever heat.
When Fru Raklitz got no reply from either one or the other she went on
talking about the matter. “If you sit rooted to one spot too long, you
grow old before your time. There is nothing so good for anyone as to be
shaken out of an old rut and go to fresh work.”
Maia Lisa thought that it had gone too far with dear father for him to
be refreshed with increased work, but she still contrived to hold her
peace. Then her stepmother began to talk as if it were already decided
that the Pastor would fall in with her suggestion. No doubt the whole
election would have to take place again, but in any case he must go to
Karlstad the next day and inquire, and then it would be best for him to
go straight on to Stockholm and make his application to His Majesty in
person. She knew he had special qualifications as far as learning went
and could get many strong supporters, as he had been tutor many years
ago to several influential men who were now in high places.
Until then Maia Lisa’s anxiety had been entirely on her father’s
account, but now another thought flashed across her mind so that she
lost her self-control and interrupted her stepmother saying, “If dear
father goes to Sjöskoga he cannot keep Lövdala.”
Her stepmother turned towards her and crooked her fingers till her hand
looked like claws, whilst all the detestation and hatred she had ever
felt for Maia Lisa shook her voice to such a degree that it was barely
possible to understand her words as she answered:
“Is your father compelled to sit here and keep Lövdala warm for you? It
is just as well that he can get clear of it, and be a free man again
and get into a position suited to him.”
The Pastor had finished his dinner and made haste to get up from the
table. He was glad to be able to put an end to the conversation. But
now Maia Lisa knew what her stepmother meant when she had said that
one day she would teach her how to cry. Dear father was to go and try
for Sjöskoga simply because her stepmother knew that she loved Lövdala
above all else, and that nothing in the world would give her such
sorrow as to lose her childhood’s home.
For a good week Fru Raklitz had to stick to her work before she could
stir the Pastor. Every day she begged and prayed and used all her
influence to induce him, at any rate, to go to Karlstad and see how
the matter stood. But up to the very last it seemed as if she would
never succeed, and certainly she would have had to give up the attempt
if something else had not come to her aid. Her husband had been the
Pastor of Svartsjö for twenty years, and all the time he had had to
bear much annoyance and many a sore trouble too. First and foremost
his heavy task when the old church was burnt down by lightning and he
had to get a new one built. Not only was he obliged to beg money from
the King, but he had asked for help from several wealthy land-owners,
and had travelled from parish to parish to collect funds. When the
church was finished it was recognised that the building was mainly due
to his efforts, and he had on that account enjoyed the deep gratitude
and respect of his people. But lately he had certainly noticed that
his parishioners had begun to fall away from him. They did not come
as of old to ask his advice on this or that question. The reason, of
course, was that they thought his advice now was dictated by his wife’s
opinions. But the Pastor did not understand that, and felt aggrieved.
And much the same had happened with his immediate dependents. The
dwelling-house, no less than the church, had been burnt down in the
Pastor’s time, and he had been put to much expense and inconvenience
to build it again. All the people on the estate who had, for the most
part, worked there long before his time had been glad of his success
both in building and in the cultivation of his land, so that he never
met with any but friendly looks. But lately there had been a change. He
saw sullen faces both in the servants’ room and in the kitchen, and, as
he would not for a moment give the blame where it rightfully belonged,
he went in a constant state of wonder why his good old servants now
proved themselves ungrateful and surly.
All this was an immense help to the Pastor’s wife when she wanted to
persuade him to try for Sjöskoga. But she would certainly not have
succeeded, even with this to help her, if there had not been the
trouble with Vetter as well.
The Pastor’s daughter was so tired and depressed that she paid little
heed to time, but she thought it must have been about the middle of
March that her stepmother had been so frightened because Vetter had
come home from prison again.
Vetter lived in a tiny cottage, a little to the north of Lövdala, and
they ought really all of them to have been frightened that he was home
again, for he was a professional thief. But Vetter had been a neighbour
of Lövdala’s for many years, and they did not trouble much whether he
was at home or away, especially as they knew he was too clever to steal
from his next-door neighbours. Every time Vetter came from prison he
vowed he would stay at home, but he was never able to keep his vow.
He liked his profession, and he was as proud of his clever thefts as
the Pastor’s wife was of her fine cooking. But the consequence of this
was that he spent the greater part of his life in prison. When the
Pastor had married a second time, Vetter had been under lock and key,
so that the Pastor’s wife had not the slightest inkling that she had a
professional burglar as her neighbour.
So now she was nearly terrified out of her senses. It was Fru Raklitz’s
firm conviction that everyone stole, dear father scarcely excepted, and
she lived in perpetual fear of losing all her belongings. In the course
of the many years that she had been housekeeper in grand families she
had got a fair amount of silver as presents, and this she kept in a box
which she put every night under her bed. This silver was her dearest
possession, and now when a burglar lived quite close, she was certain
it would be lost. She already had her cupboards and doors so securely
fastened that they could not be made any safer. But after Vetter came
home she had time for scarcely anything but trying the locks and
counting the keys on her ring. In the evening she used to fetch a great
axe from the woodshed to put beside the bed, and she never rested until
the Pastor hung a loaded gun over the head of the bed. He tried to
convince her that Vetter never stole from his neighbours, but it was
impossible to calm her fears.
When Vetter had been at home a couple of days he came to pay a visit
to Lövdala, as he always did. The Pastor’s wife was standing in the
kitchen, and as she saw him pass the window she asked at once who it
was.
“Why, that’s Vetter,” answered the housekeeper with a little
astonishment. “Of course he is coming up to let the Pastor know he is
at home again.” Fru Raklitz had certainly not expected this answer, for
the man who had gone into the Pastor’s room looked a nice respectable
old peasant. It was too much for her, and she nearly fainted from
fright. As soon as she had recovered a little she hastened into the
other rooms, took the silver chest and sat on the drawing-room sofa,
clasping it in her arm as long as Vetter stayed in the house. And a
good time she had to sit, for the Pastor had always had a certain
liking for Vetter, and did not let him go until he had heard all his
latest experiences. And when he had finished the Pastor had to give him
a few words of warning and admonition, so that it might not look as
though he had let him tell his tale just for the pleasure of hearing
him.
After this the Pastor’s wife grew a little less frightened for the
valuables in the dwelling-house, but so much the more uneasy for the
barns and out-buildings, and above all, for the larder and storeroom.
This had such a wretched old lock that anyone who liked could open it.
If the key wasn’t handy it was quite easy to turn it with a bit of
stick.
In the very same week when there was so much talk about Sjöskoga, Fru
Raklitz had sent to Smedsby to fetch Olaus, a master locksmith, and
set him to make a new lock which was to be strong enough to resist the
cleverest burglar that ever was. For four days Olaus stood working in
the smithy, but at the end of that time he had made a great lock so
heavy and stiff that even the Pastor’s wife herself could scarcely turn
the key.
When it had been fixed on the larder door Fru Raklitz was quite happy.
She locked the door herself in the evening and took the key to bed with
her. She said she should sleep more easily that night than she had done
for many a long day. Next morning when she awoke the great key lay
untouched under her pillow, but that had not prevented something very
remarkable from happening in the larder under cover of the darkness.
There stood the door, just as securely fastened as the evening before,
but none the less everything movable that had been inside--tubs of
meat, poles[2] of bread, hams, and sausages, weights and measures,
buckets and sacks--had all been carried out and arranged on the
larder steps. Everything was moved out, as we have said, but nothing
destroyed, nothing taken away, and when they saw it all standing
outside the door it was impossible not to wonder how it could possibly
have got there. The Pastor’s wife, like everyone else, at once guessed
that Vetter had been there. But when she had poked and pried and found
that not a crumb was missing, she really could not understand a thief
like that.
When the Pastor went for his morning walk, however, he met Vetter and
got an explanation.
“Vetter, Vetter!” he said, “what are you up to now? Was it you that
visited my larder last night?” Vetter looked quite insulted as he
replied:
“Pastor can give my respects to his wife and tell her that I have never
stolen from my neighbours. But she needn’t think that any of her locks
are good enough to keep me from anything I want to get.”
Oh dear, dear! If only the Pastor had been as of old he would have
enjoyed the joke for many a long day, but now it only annoyed him. He
knew the tale would go all over the parish, and everyone would laugh at
his wife and at him too perhaps. Not a single word did he answer. No
doubt in his heart he felt disappointed in everyone, and that as he had
no friends left amongst his people it might be just as well to get away
from Svartsjö. When he came back to the house he told his wife he would
drive to Karlstad next day and see how matters stood about Sjöskoga.
Dear Father had gone and come back again, and it really seemed as if
his wife had been right, for he had looked much brighter on his return.
He had been to Karlstad, and to Stockholm as well, and got many fair
promises. There was no doubt about his getting away from Svartsjö. The
Pastor had heard a strange piece of news too on his journey, and that
was that Pastor Liliecrona of Finnerud had been married in the spring.
Folks said it was not a good match, for his wife was of quite lowly
birth. And this was really the reason, so the Pastor had been told, why
he had chosen to remain up there amongst the Finns.
Maia Lisa had not dared to ask her father for any more particulars,
for her stepmother had fixed some very inquiring looks upon her. But
at least she now understood why she had heard no word of her kind
helper. And it was especially after that that she had lost all courage
and hope. Pastor Liliecrona had seemed a brave and resolute champion,
and she had trusted him as she would a kind brother. Until now she had
expected him to come riding up in the triumphant strength of his youth
and put everything right for her.