fourteen miles length through a forest, I asked her if I could not hire
a lad who knew the road, to go with me.
"No, bless you! Is it likely?" she said, as she left the piggery and
came out on the slope before the farm. "They are so busy now with
the hay-making, that they've scarcely time to eat. But it's straight
through the wood, and I'll explain it to you right enough, as if you
saw the road before you. First you go up the crag and all the hills
over yonder, and when you have got up on the heights, you have the
straight road right before you to Heggelie. You have the river on
your left hand all the way, and if you don't see it you'll hear it.
But just about Heggelie there is a lot of twistings and turnings, and
now and then the road is lost altogether for some distance--if one is
a stranger there, it's not an easy thing to find one's way, but you
are sure to find it as far as Heggelie, for that's close to the lake.
Afterwards you go along the lake, till you come to the dam across a
small tarn, just like a bridge, as they call it; bear away to the left
there, and then turn off to the right, and you have the road straight
before you to Stubdale, in Aasa."
Although this direction was not quite satisfactory, particularly as it
was the first time I had started on an excursion off the main road, I
set out confidently and soon all hesitation vanished. From the heights
a view was now and then obtained between the lofty pine and fir trees
of the valley below, with its smiling fields and variegated woods of
birch and alder trees, between which the river wound like a narrow
silvery streak. The red-painted farm-houses, peculiar to Norway, lay
picturesquely scattered on the higher points of the undulating valley
where men and women were busy hay-making. From some chimneys rose
columns of blue smoke, which appeared quite light against the dark
back-ground of thickly studded pine forests on the mountain slopes.
Over the whole landscape lay a repose and a peace so perfect that no
one could have suspected the close proximity of the capital. When I had
advanced some distance into the forest, I heard the notes of the bugle
and the distant baying of hounds in full cry, which gradually ceased,
till nothing but a faint echo of the bugle reached my ear. I now heard
the roar of the river, which rushed wildly past at some distance on my
left, but as I advanced the road seemed gradually to approach it, and
soon the valley in some parts grew narrower and narrower, till I at
last found myself at the bottom of a deep, gloomy gorge, the greatest
part of which was taken up by the river. But the road left the river
again; there were certainly twistings and turnings, as the old woman
had said, for at one moment it wound hither and the next thither, and
at some places it was almost imperceptible. Now it went up a steep
incline, and when I had passed the brow of the hill, I saw between the
fir trees a couple of twinkling tarns before me, and on the margin of
one of these a dairy on a verdant slope, bathed in the golden light of
the evening sun.
In the shady retreat under the hill grew clusters of luxuriant ferns;
the wild French willow stood proudly with its lofty crest of red and
gorgeous flowers between the pebbles, but the sedate monk's hood
lifted its head still higher and looked gloomily and wickedly down on
it, while it nodded and kept time to the cuckoo's song, as if it were
counting how many days it had to live.
On the verdant slope and down by the edge of the water, the bird-cherry
and the mountain ash displayed their flowery garb of summer. They sent
a pleasant and refreshing fragrance far around, and shook sorrowfully
the leaves of their white flowers over the reflected picture of the
landscape in the mirror of the lake, which on all sides was surrounded
by pine trees and mossy cliffs.
There was no one at home in the dairy. All doors were locked,--I
knocked everywhere, but no answer,--no information as to the road. I
sat down on a rock and waited awhile, but no one appeared. The evening
was setting in; I thought I could not stay there any longer, and
started again. It was still darker in the forest, but shortly I came to
a timber-dam across a bit of river between two lakes.
I supposed this was the place where I "should bear off first to the
left, and then to the right." I went across, but on the other side
of the dam there were only--as it appeared to me--flat, smooth, damp
rocks and no trace of a road; on the opposite side, the right side of
the dam, there was a well-trodden path. I examined both sides several
times, and although it appeared to be contrary to the direction I had
received, I decided on choosing the broader road or path, which was
continued on the right hand side of the water. As long as it followed
the course of the dark lake, the road was good and passable, but
suddenly it turned off in a direction which, according to my ideas,
was the very opposite of the one I should take, and lost itself in a
confused net of paths and cattle-tracks amid the darkness of the forest.
Inexpressibly tired of this anxious intricate search, I threw myself
down on the soft moss to rest for a while, but the fatigue conquered
the fears of the lonely forest, and I cannot now tell how long I dozed.
On hearing a wild cry, the echo of which still resounded in my ears
when I awoke, I jumped to my feet. I felt comforted by the song of the
red-breast, and I thought I felt less lonely and deserted as long as I
heard the merry notes of the thrush.
The sky was overcast and the darkness of the forest had increased
considerably. A fine rain was falling, which imparted renewed life
to the plants and trees, and filled the air with a fresh, aromatic
fragrance; it also seemed to call to life all the nocturnal sounds
and notes of the forest. Among the tops of the fir trees above me, I
heard a hollow, metallic sound, like the croaking of the frog and a
penetrating whistling and piping. Round about me was a buzzing sound,
as if from a hundred spinning-wheels, but the most terrible of all
these sounds was, that they at one time seemed close to your ear, and
in another moment far away; now they were interrupted by frolicsome,
wild cries, and a flapping of wings,--now by distant cries of distress,
on which a sudden silence followed again.
I was seized by an indescribable fear; these sounds sent a chill
through me, and my terror was increased by the darkness between
the trees, where all objects appeared distorted, moving and alive,
stretching forth thousands of hands and arms after the stray wanderer.
All the fairy tales of my childhood were conjured up before my startled
imagination, and appeared to be realized in the forms which surrounded
me; I saw the whole forest filled with trolls, elves, and sporting
dwarfs. In thoughtless and breathless fear I rushed forward to avoid
this host of demons, but while flying thus still more frightful and
distorted shapes appeared,--and I fancied I felt their hands clutching
me. Suddenly I heard the heavy tread of some one, who moved over the
crackling branches of the underwood. I saw, or fancied I saw, a dark
shape, which approached me with a pair of eyes shining like glowing
stars. My hair stood on an end; I believed my fate was inevitably
sealed, and shouted almost unconsciously as if to give myself new
courage:
[Illustration: A PAIR OF EYES SHINING LIKE STARS.]
"If there's anybody there, tell me the way to Stubdale!" A deep growl
was the answer I received, and the bear, for such it was, walked
quickly away in the same direction whence he had come. I stood for some
time and listened to his heavy steps and the crackling of the branches
under his feet. I mumbled to myself: "I wish it was daylight and that I
had a gun with me, and you should have had a bullet, Master Bruin, for
frightening me thus!"
With this wish and childish threat all fear and thoughts of danger
vanished, and I walked on again quite composed, on the soft mossy
ground.
When after considerable trouble I had forced my way through the chaos
of fallen trees, which the wind had torn up in this exposed wild
region, and had ascended the other steep hillside, I had still a good
distance to walk across an open wooded heath.
On the outskirt of this wood trickled a small brook, where the alder
and the pine trees again sought to maintain their place, and on a small
plot on the slope on the other side of a brook burned a great log-fire,
which threw its red light far in between the trees. In front of the
fire sat a dark figure, which, on account of its position between me
and the blazing fire, appeared to me to be of supernatural proportions.
The old stories about robbers and thieves in this forest came suddenly
back to me, and I was on the point of running away when my eyes caught
sight of a hut, made out of fir branches, close to the fire, and two
other men, who sat outside it, and the many axes, which were fixed into
the stump of a felled tree, and it became evident to me that they were
wood-cutters.
The dark figure, an old man, was speaking,--I saw him move his lips; he
held a short pipe in his hand, which he only put to his mouth now and
then to keep it alight by these occasional puffs. When I approached the
group, the story had either come to an end or he had been interrupted;
he stooped forward, put some glowing embers in his pipe, smoked
incessantly and appeared to be attentively listening to what a fourth
person, who had just arrived, had to say. This person, who apparently
also belonged to the party, was carrying a bucket of water from the
brook. His hair was red, and he was dressed in a long jersey jacket,
and had more the appearance of a tramp than a wood-cutter. He looked as
if he had been frightened by something or other.
The old man had now turned round towards him, and as I had crossed the
brook and was approaching the party from the side, I could now see the
old man plainly in the full glare of the fire. He was a short man with
a long hooked nose. A blue skull-cap with a red border scarcely covered
his head of bristly grey hair, and a short-bodied but long Ringerike
coat of dark grey frieze with worn velvet borders, served to make the
roundness and crookedness of his back still more conspicuous.
The new-comer appeared to be speaking about a bear.
"Well, who would believe it?" said the old man, "what did he want
there? It must have been some other noise you heard, for there doesn't
grow anything on the dry heath hereabout which he would be after. No,
not Bruin, not he" he added; "I almost think you are telling lies,
Peter! There's an old saying that red hair and firs don't thrive in
good soil," he continued half aloud. "If it had been down in the bear's
den or in Stygdale, where Knut and I both heard him and saw him the
other day--but here?--No, no! he doesn't come so near the fire, he
doesn't! You have been frightening yourself!"
[Illustration]
"Frightening myself? Oh, dear no! Didn't I hear him moving and crushing
through the underwood, my canny Thor Lerberg?" answered the other,
somewhat offended and chagrined at the old man's doubts and taunts.
"Well, well, my boy," continued Thor in his former tone, "I suppose it
was something bigger than a squirrel, anyhow!"
I now stepped forward, and said it must have been me that he had heard,
and told them how I had lost my way, and the fright I had undergone,
and how hungry and tired I was. I asked whereabouts I was now, and if
one of them would show me the way to Stubdale.
My appearance created considerable surprise to the party, which however
was not so much apparent in their words, as in the attention with
which they regarded me and heard my story. The old man, whose name I
had heard was Thor Lerberg, seemed particularly interested in it; and
as it appeared that he was accustomed to thinking aloud, I could on
hearing some of the remarks which he now and then mumbled to himself,
participate in his reflections thus:
"No, no that was the wrong way!--He should have gone over the dam
there--Stubdale way--he went wrong altogether--he is too young--he
isn't used to the woods--ah, that was the woodcock--and the
goatsucker--yes, yes! it sounds strange to him, that hasn't heard
him--oh, yes! the loon does shriek dreadfully--particularly when
there's fine rain--ah, ah! yes, that must have been the bear he met--he
is a brave boy after all!"
"Yes!" I said boldly, and gave vent to my awakening youthful courage in
about the same words as the man who once came across a bear asleep on
a sunny hillside: "If it had been daylight, and if I had been a hunter
and had a loaded gun with me, and if I could have made it go off, why,
by my faith, the bear should have lain dead on the spot, he should."
"Yes, of course, ha, ha, ha!" laughed old Thor, and chuckled till the
others joined in the laughter; "of course he would have lain dead on
the spot,--that's plain! ha, ha, ha!"
"But you are now by Storflaaten, the biggest lake in the forest
here," he said, addressing himself to me, when I had finished my
story; "towards morning we'll help you on your way, for we have got a
boat, and when you have got across the water you haven't far to go to
Stubdale then. But I suppose you would like to rest yourself a little
now, and get something to eat! I have nothing but some peas-pudding and
rancid bacon, and may be you are not used to that kind of food; but
if you are hungry, perhaps you would like some fish? I have been out
fishing, and fine fish I got too,--yes, in the lake, I mean!"
I thanked him for his offer, and he told one of his companions to take
a "regular good 'un" off the string and roast it in the glowing embers
of the fire.
In the meantime the old man asked a number of questions about myself,
and by the time I had answered all these the fish was ready, and I
began my meal with great appetite. He now asked one of his companions
to tell us something about what he once said had happened to his
father, when he was out cutting timber.
"That was in the spring, just before Easter 1815, when father lived
at Oppen-Eie--the snow wasn't gone yet, but he had to set out for the
forest to cut and drag home some wood. He went up in the Helling
hill, where he found a withered fir which he commenced cutting down at
once. While cutting away at it, he thought he saw withered firs all
around him, but while he was staring and wondering at this, up came a
procession of eleven horses,--all of a mouse-gray color; it appeared to
him to be a wedding-party.
"What people are these, who are coming this way over the hill?" he
asked.
"Oh, we are from Osthalla," says one of them, "we are going to the
Veien dairy to keep the wedding; the one who drives in front is the
parson, next are the bride and bridegroom, and I am his father-in-law.
You had better stand behind on my sledge and come along."
"When they had traveled some distance, the father-in-law said: 'Will
you take these two bags with you and go to the Veien farm and get two
barrels of potatoes in them by the time we go home?'
"My father promised to do this. They came soon to a place which he
thought he knew, and so it was. It was just north of the Kill hill,
where the old dairy stood; but there was no dairy there then, but a
great fine building, and here they all entered. Some one met them on
the steps to give the guests a glass of welcome, and they gave father
a glass also, but he said, 'No, thanks!' he would not have anything
he said, for he had only his old clothes on, and would not intrude on
such fine folks. 'Never mind this man,' said one of them, 'take a horse
and see him on his way home,' which they did; they put him in a sledge
with a mouse-gray horse before it, and one of them sat up and drove the
horse.
When they got as far as the little valley north of Oppenhagen--where
the land-slip took place--he thought he sat between the ears of a
bucket; but shortly this vanished also, and it was only then he really
came to himself again. He began looking for his axe, and found it
sticking in the same withered fir-tree he had begun to cut down. When
he came home, he was so confused and queer, that he could not tell how
many days he had been away; but he was only away from the morning to
the evening,--and for some time afterwards he was not himself----"
"Yes, many a queer thing happens hereabout," said old Thor; "and I for
my part have also seen a little--well, witchcraft I mean,--and if you
like to sit up a little longer, I'll tell you what has happened to
me,--in this here forest I mean."
"Yes, they would all like to hear it;--to-morrow was Sunday, and it
didn't much matter if they went to bed late.
"Well, it might be about ten or twelve years ago," he answered, "I
was burning charcoal over in the Kampenhaug forest. In the winter I
had two horses there to cart the coals to the Bærum works. One day I
happened to stop too long at the works, for I met some old friends from
Ringerike there, and we had a good talk about one thing or another, and
a little drop to drink, too,--yes, brandy I mean--and so I did not come
back to the kiln before ten o'clock in the evening.
I made a fire, so I could see loading the sledges, for it was terribly
dark, and I had to get the carts loaded in the evening, for I had to
be off at three o'clock next morning, if I was to get to the works and
back again the same day while it was light,--back to the kiln I mean.
When I had got the fire to burn up, I began loading the sledges. But
just as I was turning round to the fire again a drift of snow came
sweeping down upon it and put it out entirely,--the fire I mean. So I
thought to myself: 'Why, bless me, the old witch in the hill here is
vexed to-night, because I come home so late and disturb her.' I struck
a light and made a new fire. But, strange to say, the shovel would
not drop all the coals into the basket,--more than half went over the
sides. At last I got the sledges loaded, and I was going to put the
ropes round them, but will you believe me, every one of them broke, the
one after the other,--the ropes I mean. So I had to get new ropes, and
at last got the sledges ready, gave the horses their fodder, and went
to bed. But do you think I awoke at three? No, not till long after the
sun had risen, and still I felt heavy and queer, both in my head and my
body.
Well, I had something to eat and went then to look to the horses, but
the shed was empty and the horses were gone. I got rather out of temper
at this, and I am afraid I swore a little into the bargain, but I
thought I had better try and find some tracks of them. During the night
there had fallen a little fresh snow, and I could see they had not gone
off in the direction of the valley or the works. I found, however, the
track of two horses and of a couple of broad large feet in a northerly
direction; I followed these for two or three miles, when the tracks
parted, and the foot-marks vanished altogether; one horse had gone to
the east, and the other to the west, and after following up one first
for five or six miles, I came upon him at last. I had to take him home
to the hut and tie him up, before I could start looking for the other
horse. By the time I got hold of him it was near upon noon, and so
there was no use going to the works that day. But I promised I should
never disturb the old witch any more,--in the evening I mean.
But these promises are strange things sometimes,--if you keep a promise
to Christmas you are pretty sure to break it before next Michaelmas.
The year after I made a trip to Christiania late in the autumn,--the
roads were in a fearful bad condition and it was already very late in
the afternoon before I left town, but I wanted to get home that night.
I was on horseback and took the road by Bokstad, which is the shortest,
as you know,--to Ausfjerdingen, I mean. The weather was wet and ugly,
and it was beginning to grow dark when I started. But when I came over
the bridge by Heggelie I saw a man coming towards me,--he wasn't very
tall, but terribly big; he was as broad as a barn-door across his
shoulders, and his hands were nearly a foot across the knuckles. He
carried a leather bag in one hand, and seemed to be talking to himself.
When I came nearer to him, his eyes glistened like burning cinders,
and they were as big as saucers. His hair stood out like bristles, and
his beard was no better; I thought he was a terrible, ugly brute, and
I prayed for myself the little I could, and just as I came to the end,
down he sank,--in the ground I mean.
"I rode on, humming an old psalm, but suddenly I met him again coming
down a hill; his eyes and hair and beard, too, sparkled with fire this
time. I began praying again, and had no sooner finished than he was
gone. But I had scarcely ridden a mile before I met him once more as
I was crossing a small bridge. His eyes flashed like lightning and
sparks flew out of his hair and beard, and so he shook his bag, till
you could see blue and yellow and red tongues of fire shooting out
of it. But then I lost my temper right out, and instead of praying I
swore at him, and he vanished on the spot. But as I rode on, I began
to be afraid that I should meet this brute again, so when I came to
Lovlie, I knocked at the door, and asked for lodgings till daylight,
but do you think they would let me in? No. I could travel by day, like
other folks, they said, and then I needn't ask for lodgings!--So I
guessed the brute had been there before me and frightened them, and I
had to set out again. But then I started another old psalm, till the
mountains rang with it, and I came at last safe to Stubdale, where I
got lodgings--but it was almost morning then."
The manner in which he told these stories, was like his speech, slow
and expressive, and he had the custom of repeating single words, or
part of his sentences at the end of these, or adding one or another
superfluous explanation. He generally applied these remarks after
one of his many exertions to keep his pipe alight, and they had such
a comical effect on me, that I had great difficulty to refrain from
laughing outright. I was in a merry mood after having safely got
through my nocturnal expedition, and to this I must ascribe the fact
that his stories did not make the impression upon me which, after what
I had gone through, might have been expected.
The dawn of the day was now appearing, and old Thor told one of his
companions to row me across the lake, and put me on my right road.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
TWO LITTLE KITTENS.
Two little kittens, one stormy night,
Began to quarrel and then to fight,
One had a mouse, the other had none,
And that was the way the quarrel begun.
"_I'll_ have that mouse," said the biggest cat,
"_You'll_ have that mouse, we'll see about that,"
"I _will_ have the mouse" said the eldest son.
"You _shan't_ have that mouse," said the little one.
I told you before 'twas a stormy night,
When these two little kittens began to fight;
The old woman seized her sweeping broom,
And swept the two kittens right out of the room.
The ground was covered with frost and snow,
And the two little kittens had nowhere to go,
So they laid them down on the mat at the door,
While the old woman finished sweeping the floor.
Then they both crept in as quiet as mice,
All wet with snow and cold as ice;
For they found it was better, that stormy night,
To lie down and sleep, than to quarrel and fight.
[Illustration: "OUCH!"]
[Illustration]
THE LABOR OF AUTHORSHIP.
David Livingstone said: "Those who have never carried a book through
the press can form no idea of the amount of toil it involves. The
process has increased my respect for authors a thousand-fold. I think I
would rather cross the African continent again than undertake to write
another book."
"For the statistics of the negro population of South America alone,"
says Robert Dale Owen, "I examined more than a hundred and fifty
volumes."
Another author tells us that he wrote paragraphs and whole pages of his
book as many as fifty times.
It is said of one of Longfellow's poems that it was written in four
weeks, but that he spent six months in correcting and cutting it down.
Bulwer declared that he had rewritten some of his briefer productions
as many as eight or nine times before their publication. One of
Tennyson's pieces was rewritten fifty times. John Owen was twenty
years on his "Commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews;" Gibbon on his
"Decline and Fall," twenty years; and Adam Clark on his "Commentary,"
twenty-six years. Carlyle spent fifteen years on his "Frederick the
Great."