_A_ STORY _from_ HALSTANÄS
_A_ STORY _from_ HALSTANÄS
In olden times there stood by the roadside an old country-house called
Halstanäs. It comprised a long row of red-painted houses, which were of
low structure, and right behind them lay the forest. Close to the
dwelling-house was a large wild cherry-tree, which showered its black
fruit over the red-tiled roof. A bell under a small belfry hung over the
gable of the stables.
Just outside the kitchen-door was a dovecote, with a neat little
trelliswork outside the holes. From the attic a cage for squirrels was
hanging; it consisted of two small green houses and a large wheel, and
in front of a big hedge of lilacs stood a long row of beehives covered
with bark.
There was a pond belonging to the farm, full of fat carp and slim
water-snakes; there was also a kennel at the entrance; there were white
gates at the end of the avenue, and at the garden walks, and in every
place where they could possibly have a gate. There were big lofts with
dark lumber-rooms, where old-fashioned uniforms and ladies' head-gear a
hundred years old were stored away; there were large chests full of silk
gowns and bridal finery; there were old pianos and violins, guitars and
bassoons. In bureaus and cabinets were manuscript songs and old yellow
letters; on the walls of the entrance-hall hung guns, pistols and
hunting-bags; on the floor were rugs, in which patches of old silken
gowns were woven together with pieces of threadbare cotton curtains.
There was a large porch, where the deadly nightshade summer after summer
grew up a thin trelliswork; there were large, yellow front-doors, which
were fastened with bolts and catches; the hall was strewn with sprigs of
juniper, and the windows had small panes and heavy wooden shutters.
One summer old Colonel Beerencreutz came on a visit to this house. It is
supposed to have been the very year after he left Ekeby. At that time he
had taken rooms at a farm at Svartsjö, and it was only on rare occasions
that he went visiting. He still had his horse and gig, but he scarcely
ever used them. He said that he had grown old in earnest now, and that
home was the best place for old people.
Beerencreutz was also loath to leave the work he had in hand. He was
weaving rugs for his two rooms--large, many-coloured rugs in a rich and
strangely-thought-out pattern. It took him an endless time, because he
had his own way of weaving, for he used no loom, but stretched his wool
from the one wall to the other right across the one room. He did this in
order to see the whole rug at one time; but to cross the woof and
afterwards bring the threads together to a firm web was no easy matter.
And then there was the pattern, which he himself thought out, and the
colours which should match. This took the Colonel more time than anyone
would have imagined; for whilst Beerencreutz was busy getting the
pattern right, and whilst he was working with warp and woof, he often
sat and thought of God. Our Lord, he thought, was likewise sitting at a
loom, still larger, and with an even more peculiar pattern to weave. And
he knew that there must be both light and dark shades in that weaving.
But Beerencreutz would at times sit and think so long about this, until
he fancied he saw before him his own life and the life of the people
whom he had known, and with whom he had lived, forming a small portion
of God's great weaving; and he seemed to see that piece so distinctly
that he could discern both outlines and colouring. And if one asked
Beerencreutz what the pattern in his work really meant, he would be
obliged to confess that it was the life of himself and his friends which
he wove into the rug as a faint imitation of what he thought he had seen
represented on God's loom.
The Colonel, however, was accustomed to pay a little visit to some old
friends every year just after midsummer. He had always liked best to
travel through the country when the fields were still scented with
clover, and blue and yellow flowers grew along the roadside in two long
straight rows.
This year the Colonel had hardly got to the great highroad before he met
his old friend Ensign von Örneclou. And the Ensign, who was travelling
about all the year round, and who knew all the country houses in
Värmland, gave him some good advice.
'Go to Halstanäs and call upon Ensign Vestblad,' he said to the Colonel.
'I can only tell you, old man, I don't know a house in the whole country
where one fares better.'
'What Vestblad are you speaking about?' asked the Colonel. 'I suppose
you don't mean the old Ensign whom the Major's wife showed the door?'
'The very man,' said the Ensign. 'But Vestblad is not the same man he
was. He has married a fine lady--a real stunning woman, Colonel--who has
made a man of him. It was a wonderful piece of good luck for Vestblad
that such a splendid girl should take a fancy to him. She was not
exactly young any longer; but no more was he. You should go to
Halstanäs, Colonel, and see what wonders love can work.'
And the Colonel went to Halstanäs to see if Örneclou spoke the truth. He
had, as a matter of fact, now and then wondered what had become of
Vestblad; in his young days he had kicked so recklessly over the traces
that even the Major's wife at Ekeby could not put up with him. She had
not been able to keep him at Ekeby more than a couple of years before
she was obliged to turn him out. Vestblad had become such a heavy
drinker that a Cavalier could hardly associate with him. And now
Örneclou declared that he owned a country house, and had made an
excellent match.
The Colonel consequently went to Halstanäs, and saw at the first glance
that it was a real old country-seat. He had only to look at the avenue
of birches with all the names cut on the fine old trees. Such birches he
had only seen at good old country-houses. The Colonel drove slowly up to
the house, and every moment his pleasure increased. He saw lime hedges
of the proper kind, so close that one could walk on the top of them,
and there were a couple of terraces with stone steps so old that they
were half buried in the ground. When the Colonel drove past the pond, he
saw indistinctly the dark carp in the yellowish water. The pigeons flew
up from the road flapping their wings; the squirrel stopped its wheel;
the watch-dog lay with its head on its paws, wagging its tail, and at
the same time faintly growling. Close to the porch the Colonel saw an
ant-hill, where the ants, unmolested, went to and fro--to and fro. He
looked at the flower-beds inside the grass border. There they grew, all
the old flowers: narcissus and pyrola, sempervivum and marigold; and on
the bank grew small white daisies, which had been there so long that
they now sowed themselves like weeds. Beerencreutz again said to himself
that this was indeed a real old country-house, where both plants and
animals and human beings throve as well as could be.
When at last he drove up to the front-door he had as good a reception as
he could wish for, and as soon as he had brushed the dust off him he was
taken to the dining-room, and he was offered plenty of good
old-fashioned food--the same old cakes for dessert that his mother used
to give him when he came home from school; and any so good he had never
tasted elsewhere.
Beerencreutz looked with surprise at Ensign Vestblad. He went about
quiet and content, with a long pipe in his mouth and a skull-cap on his
head. He wore an old morning-coat, which he had difficulty in getting
out of when it was time to dress for dinner. That was the only sign of
the Bohemian left, as far as Beerencreutz could see. He went about and
looked after his men, calculated their wages, saw how things were
getting on in the fields and meadows, gathered a rose for his wife when
he went through the garden, and he indulged no longer in either swearing
or spitting. But what astonished the Colonel most of all was the
discovery that old Ensign Vestblad kept his books. He took the Colonel
into his office and showed him large books with red backs. And those he
kept himself. He had lined them with red ink and black ink, written the
headings with large letters, and put down everything, even to a stamp.
But Ensign Vestblad's wife, who was a born lady, called Beerencreutz
cousin, and they soon found out the relationship between them; and they
talked all their relatives over. At last Beerencreutz became so intimate
with Mrs. Vestblad that he consulted her about the rug he was weaving.
It was a matter of course that the Colonel should stay the night. He was
taken to the best spare room to the right of the hall and close to his
host's bedroom, and his bed was a large four-poster, with heaps of
eiderdowns.
The Colonel fell asleep as soon as he got into bed, but awoke later on
in the night. He immediately got out of bed and went and opened the
window-shutters. He had a view over the garden, and in the light summer
night he could see all the gnarled old apple-trees, with their
worm-eaten leaves, and with numerous props under the decayed branches.
He saw the large wild apple-tree, which in the autumn would give barrels
of uneatable fruit; he saw the strawberries, which had just begun to
ripen under their profusion of green leaves.
The Colonel stood and looked at it as if he could not afford to waste
his time in sleeping. Outside his window at the peasant farm where he
lived all he could see was a stony hill and a couple of juniper-bushes;
and it was natural that a man like Beerencreutz should feel more at home
amongst well-trimmed hedges and roses in bloom.
When in the quiet stillness of the night one looks out upon a garden,
one often has a feeling that it is not real and natural. It can be so
still that one can almost fancy one's self in the theatre; one imagines
that the trees are painted and the roses made of paper. And it was
something like this the Colonel felt as he stood there. 'It cannot be
possible,' he thought, 'that all this is real. It can only be a dream.'
But then a few rose-leaves fell softly to the ground from the big
rose-tree just outside his window, and then he realized that everything
was genuine. Everything was real and genuine; both day and night the
same peace and contentment everywhere.
When he went and laid down again he left the window-shutters open. He
lay in the high bed and looked time after time at the rose-tree; it is
impossible to describe his pleasure in looking at it. He thought what a
strange thing it was that such a man as Vestblad should have this flower
of Paradise outside his window.
The more the Colonel thought of Vestblad the more surprised he became
that such a foal should end his days in such a stable. He was not good
for much at the time he was turned away from Ekeby. Who would have
thought he would have become a staid and well-to-do man?
The Colonel lay and laughed to himself, and wondered whether Vestblad
still remembered how he used to amuse himself in the olden days when he
was living at Ekeby. On dark and stormy nights he used to rub himself
over with phosphorus, mount a black horse, and ride over the hills to
the ironworks, where the smiths and the workmen lived; and if anyone
happened to look out of his window and saw a horseman shining with a
bluish-white light tearing past, he hastened to bar and bolt everywhere,
saying it was best to say one's prayers twice that night, for the devil
was abroad.
Oh yes, to frighten simple folks by such tricks was a favourite
amusement in olden days; but Vestblad had carried his jokes further than
anyone else the Colonel knew of.
An old woman on the parish had died at Viksta, which belonged to Ekeby.
Vestblad happened to hear about this. He also heard that the corpse had
been taken from the house and placed in a barn. At night Vestblad put on
his fiery array, mounted his black horse, and rode to the farmstead; and
people there who were about had seen a fiery horseman ride up to the
barn, where the corpse lay, ride three times round it and disappear
through the door. They had also seen the horseman come out again, ride
three times round the house and then disappear. But in the morning, when
they went into the barn to see the corpse, it was gone, and they
thought the devil had been there and carried her off. This supposition
had been enough for them. But a couple of weeks later they found the
body, which had been thrown on to a hay-loft in the barn, and then there
was a great outcry. They found out who the fiery horseman was, and the
peasants were on the watch to give Vestblad a good hiding. But the
Major's wife would not have him at her table or in her house any longer;
she packed his knapsack and asked him to betake himself elsewhere. And
Vestblad went out into the world and made his fortune.
A strange feeling of uneasiness came over the Colonel as he lay in bed.
He felt as if something were going to happen. He had hardly realized
before what an ugly story it was. He had no doubt even laughed at it at
the time. They had not been in the habit of taking much notice of what
happened to a poor old pauper in those days; but, great God! how furious
one would have been if anybody had done that to one's own mother!
A suffocating feeling came over the Colonel; he breathed heavily. The
thought of what Vestblad had done appeared so vile and hateful to him,
it weighed him down like a nightmare. He was half afraid of seeing the
dead woman, of seeing her appear from behind the bed. He felt as if she
must be quite near. And from the four corners of the room the Colonel
heard terrible words: 'God will not forgive it! God has never forgotten
it!'
The Colonel closed his eyes, but then he suddenly saw before him God's
great loom, where the web was woven with the fates of men; and he
thought he saw Ensign Vestblad's square, and it was dark on three sides;
and he, who understood something about weaving and patterns, knew that
the fourth side would also have to be covered with the dark shade. It
could not be done in any other way, otherwise there would be a mistake
in the weaving.
A cold sweat broke out on his forehead; it seemed to him that he looked
upon what was the hardest and the most immovable in all the world. He
saw how the fate which a man has worked out in his past life will pursue
him to the end. And to think there were actually people who thought they
could escape it!
Escape it! escape! All was noted and written down; the one colour and
the one figure necessitated the other, and everything came about as it
was bound to come about.
Suddenly Colonel Beerencreutz sat up in bed; he would look at the
flowers and the roses, and think that perhaps our Lord could forget
after all. But at the moment Beerencreutz sat up in bed the bedroom door
opened, and one of the farm-labourers--a stranger to him--put his head
in and nodded to the Colonel.
It was now so light that the Colonel saw the man quite distinctly. It
was the most hideous face he had ever seen. He had small gray eyes like
a pig, a flat nose, and a thin, bristly beard. One could not say that
the man looked like an animal, for animals have nearly always good
faces, but still, he had something of the animal about him. His lower
jaw projected, his neck was thick, and his forehead was quite hidden by
his rough, unkempt hair.
He nodded three times to the Colonel, and every time his mouth opened
with a broad grin; and he put out his hand, red with blood, and showed
it triumphantly. Up to this moment the Colonel had sat up in bed as if
paralyzed, but now he jumped up and was at the door in two steps. But
when he reached the door, the fellow was gone and the door closed.
The Colonel was just on the point of raising the alarm, when it struck
him that the door must be fastened on the inside, on his side, as he had
himself locked it the night before; and on examining it, he found that
it had not been unlocked.
The Colonel felt almost ashamed to think that in his old age he had
begun to see ghosts. He went straight back to bed again.
When the morning came, and he had breakfasted, the Colonel felt still
more ashamed. He had excited himself to such an extent that he had
trembled all over and perspired from fear. He said not a word about it.
But later on in the day he and Vestblad went over the estate. As they
passed a labourer who was cutting sods on a bank Beerencreutz recognised
him again. It was the man he had seen in the night. He recognised
feature for feature.
'I would not keep that man a day longer in my service, my friend,' said
Beerencreutz, when they had walked a short distance. And he told
Vestblad what he had seen in the night. 'I tell you this simply to warn
you, in order that you may dismiss the man.'
But Vestblad would not; he was just the man he would not dismiss. And
when Beerencreutz pressed him more and more, he at last confessed that
he would not do anything to the man, because he was the son of an old
pauper woman who had died at Viksta close to Ekeby.
'You no doubt remember the story?' he added.
'If that's the case, I would rather go to the end of the world than live
another day with that man about the place,' said Beerencreutz. An hour
after he left, and was almost angry that his warning was not heeded.
'Some misfortune will happen before I come here again,' said the Colonel
to Vestblad, as he took leave.
Next year, at the same time, the Colonel was preparing for another visit
to Halstanäs. But before he got so far, he heard some sad news about his
friends. As the clock struck one, a year after the very night he had
slept there, Ensign Vestblad and his wife had been murdered in their
bedroom by one of their labourers--a man with a neck like a bull, a flat
nose, and eyes like a pig.
_From a Swedish_ HOMESTEAD