Endregaarden was the name of a small solitary hamlet, surrounded by
high mountains, from which flowed a broad river that divided the flat
and fertile valley in two.
The river ran into a lake that lay close to the hamlet, and from this
spot there was a beautiful prospect. Once there came a man rowing over
Endre Water; his name was Endre, and it was he who had first settled in
the valley, and his kindred who now lived there. Some said he had
decamped hither for murder's sake, and it was therefore his descendants
were so dark; others said it was due to the mountains, that shut out
the sun at five o'clock on midsummer day.
Over this hamlet there hung an eagle's nest from the projecting cliffs
up in the mountain, and though all could see when the eagle was
sitting, the nest was quite out of reach. The male bird sailed over the
hamlet, pouncing now on a lamb, now on a kid, once he had also taken a
little child and borne away; therefore there was no security so long as
the eagle had her nest in this mountain fastness.
There was a tradition among the people, that in the olden time, two
brothers had climbed up and destroyed the nest; but now there was no
one who could do it.
When two met in Endregaarden, they would speak of the eagle's nest, and
look up. Every one knew what time in the new year the eagles had come
back, where they had pounced down and done mischief, and who had last
attempted to climb up.
In the hope of one day being able to achieve the feat of the two
brothers, the lads, from quite small boys, would practise themselves in
climbing trees and cliffs, wrestling, &c.
At the time of which we now speak, the first lad in Endregaarden was
not of the Endre kin; his name was Leif, he had curly hair, and small
eyes, was clever in all play, and fond of the gentler sex. He said very
early of himself, that one day he would reach the eagle's nest, but
people intimated he had better not have said it aloud.
This tickled him, and before he was of full age, he went aloft. It was
a clear Sunday morning in the early summer; the young birds would
scarcely be hatched. The people gathered in a crowd under the mountain
to see; old and young alike advising him against the attempt.
But he listened only to the voice of his own strong will, and waiting
till the eagle left her nest, he made one spring and hung in a tree
several yards from the ground. It grew in a cleft, and up this cleft he
began to climb. Small stones loosened from under his feet, and the soil
and gravel came tumbling down, otherwise it was quite still, save the
sound of the river from behind with its subdued and ceaseless sough.
He soon reached that part where the mountain began to project, and here
he hung by one hand, groping with his foot for a hold; he could not
see. Many, especially women, turned away, saying he would not have done
this if his parents had been living. At last he found a footing, sought
again, first with the hand, then with the foot; he missed, slipped,
then hung fast again. They who stood below could hear each other
breathing.
Then a tall young girl, who sat upon a stone apart from the rest, rose
up; they said she had promised herself to him from a child, although he
was not of the Endre kin, and her parents would never give their
consent. She stretched out her arms and called aloud, "Leif, Leif, why
do you do this!" Every one turned towards her; the father stood close
by and gave her a severe look, but she did not heed him. "Come down
again, Leif," she cried: "I, I love you, and there's nothing to be
gained up there!"
One could see that he was considering, he waited a moment or two, and
then went further up. He found a firm footing, and for a time he got on
well; then he seemed to grow tired, for he often stopped.
A small stone came rolling down, as though it were a forerunner, and
all who stood there must watch its course to the bottom. Some could not
bear it longer, and went away. The girl still standing high upon the
stone, wrung her hands and gazed up. Leif took hold again with one
hand; it slipped, she saw it distinctly; he made a grasp with the
other, it slipped also; "Leif!" she cried, so that it rang in the
mountain, and all the others joined in. "He's slipping!" they cried,
and stretched out their hands towards him, men and women. He continued
to slip with the sand, stone, and soil; slip, slip, faster, faster. The
people turned away, and then they heard a rustling and rattling on the
mountain behind them, and something heavy fall down like a great piece
of wet earth. When they looked round again, there he lay, torn and
disfigured. The girl lay on the stone; the father took her up and
carried her away. The lads, who had the most excited Leif to climb,
dared not now go near to help him, some could not even look at him; so
the old people had to come forward. The eldest of them said, as he took
him up, "Alas! alas! but,--" he added, "it is well there is something
hangs so high that every one cannot reach it."