MÅRBACKA
BOOKS BY SELMA LAGERLÖF
JERUSALEM, A Novel
(_Trans. from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard_)
CHRIST LEGENDS
(_Trans. from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard_)
WONDERFUL ADVENTURES OF NILS
(_Trans. from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard_)
FURTHER ADVENTURES OF NILS
(_Trans. from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard_)
GIRL FROM THE MARSH CROFT
(_Trans. from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard_)
LEGEND OF THE SACRED IMAGE
(_Trans. from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard_)
MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST
(_Trans. from Swedish by Pauline Bancroft Flach_)
STORY OF GÖSTA BERLING
(_Trans. from Swedish by Pauline Bancroft Flach_)
THE EMPEROR OF PORTUGALLIA
(_Trans. from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard_)
THE HOLY CITY, Jerusalem II
(_Trans. from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard_)
INVISIBLE LINKS
(_Trans. from Swedish by Pauline Bancroft Flach_)
LILLIECRONA’S HOME
(_Trans. from Swedish by Anna Barwell_)
THE OUTCAST
(_Trans. from Swedish by W. Worster, M. A._)
MÅRBACKA
(_Trans. from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard_)
MÅRBACKA
BY
SELMA LAGERLÖF
TRANSLATED FROM THE SWEDISH BY
VELMA SWANSTON HOWARD
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1925
COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES
AT
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N.Y.
CONTENTS
THE STRÖMSTAD JOURNEY
PAGE
I. The Nursemaid 1
II. Grand Company 10
III. The Drive to Karlstad 18
IV. In the Cabin on the _Uddeholm_ 21
V. At the Goldsmith’s Shop 26
VI. Gray Island 32
VII. The Bird of Paradise 39
VIII. The Keepsake 47
THE OLD HOUSEKEEPER’S TALES
I. Grandmother 53
II. The Ghost of Vilarstensbacken 55
III. Pastor Wennervik 63
IV. The Gander 67
V. The Lemmings 71
VI. The Neckan 80
VII. The Paymaster of the Regiment 84
VIII. The Militia-Men 96
OLD HOUSES AND OLD PEOPLE
I. The Stone Huts 105
II. The Money-Chest 112
III. The Larder on Stilts 120
IV. The Manservants’ Cottage 127
V. The _Jungfru_ 133
VI. The Bridal-Crown 142
VII. _Vackerfeldt_ 155
VIII. The Orchestra 169
THE NEW MÅRBACKA
I. The Seventeen Cats 179
II. The New Barn 188
III. The Garden 197
IV. The Roof Trusses 207
WORKDAYS AND FÊTE DAYS
I. Nooning 215
II. Mamselle Brorström 219
III. Riding to _Blåkulla_ 226
IV. Bellman Ballads 231
V. Boys and Girls 237
VI. The Old Soldier 244
VII. The Land of Heart’s Desire 247
VIII. The _Slom_ Season 252
IX. The Seventeenth of August 264
Postscript 285
THE STRÖMSTAD JOURNEY
MÅRBACKA
I
THE NURSEMAID
ONCE they had a nursemaid at Mårbacka who was called Back-Kaisa. She
must have been all of six feet high. She had a large-featured, swarthy,
stern-looking face, her hands were hard and full of cracks, in which
the children’s hair would catch when she combed it, and she was heavy
and mournful.
A person of that sort could hardly be said to have been especially
created for the nursery, and indeed Fru Lagerlöf had deliberated a long
while before engaging her. The girl had never been out to service and
knew nothing of the ways of people; she had grown up on a poor
backwoods croft, among the wooded hills above Mårbacka, far from any
other habitation.
Probably there was no one else available, or Fru Lagerlöf would not
have had her come. That the girl did not know how to make up a bed, or
build a fire in a tile-stove, or prepare a bath, was understood
beforehand; but she was teachable and did not mind sweeping out the
nursery every day, or dusting, or washing baby-clothes. What she could
not seem to learn, however, was how to get along with the little folk.
She never played with them or gave them a pleasant word. She knew no
sagas and no songs. It was not that she meant to be unkind, but she was
so constituted that romp and frolic and laughter were hateful to her.
She would have liked the children to sit quietly, each in his or her
little chair, without moving or talking.
Fru Lagerlöf was at all events quite pleased with the nursemaid. As for
her not knowing any stories--well, the Mårbacka children had their
grandmother, who every morning as soon as she was dressed gathered the
youngsters about her, and sang and narrated for them till away up to
dinner-time. And they had someone, too, who played with them, for
Lieutenant Lagerlöf, whenever he had a spare moment, romped with his
children.
Back-Kaisa was strong, patient, and dutiful. She was a person to be
depended on. When her master and mistress went off to a party, they
could rest assured that she did not run out and leave the children
alone in the nursery. If only she’d had a more delicate touch she would
have been admirable. But hers were no gentle clutches when little arms
had to go into dress-sleeves. When she washed the children the soap
always got into their eyes; and when she wielded the comb they felt as
if every wisp of hair were being torn from their heads.
The nursery at Mårbacka was a light, warm, spacious room--the best
in the whole house. But, unhappily, it was a gable-room, and to get
there one had first to go out into the lower front hall, then up a
flight of steps and across a big attic. The attic stairs were steep,
and difficult for little feet to climb. Now the former nursemaid used
to take a child on her arm and carry it up, but Back-Kaisa didn’t seem
to know enough for that. And it was positively terrifying to walk the
length of that attic--above all, after dark! So it seemed almost
necessary that little hands should have a large hand to slip into. But
Back-Kaisa, who had been accustomed to the dark of the wild forest,
probably thought the attic at Mårbacka a nice safe place. She just
stalked on and never so much as put out a hand. One was glad if one
could even catch hold of a corner of her skirt.
The beds in which the three children slept had been made by the clever
old carpenter at Askersby, and they were quite decorative, with a
little row of spindles across each headboard; but they were in two
sections that pulled out and pushed in like a drawer. Large as the
nursery was, the three beds when open took up a lot of space; so it was
well they could be folded during the day. Now that in itself was all
right, but the clever old carpenter had somehow managed to make the
beds in such a way that they sometimes sprang apart in the dead of the
night.
When that happened, you were of course startled out of your sweetest
slumber. Finding your bed cut off in the middle, you drew yourself
into the upper end and tried to catch back sleep again. But somehow it
would not come. After a while you stretched out your legs and let them
dangle. In that position you lay waiting for the Sandman till you were
as wide awake as in broad day. Then at last you decided to get up and
try to push the two parts together. When you had apparently succeeded
and had got the bedclothes nicely straightened, you crept back into bed
as cautiously as possible, and stretched out once more with a feeling
of satisfaction. All went well, sleep came stealing on, then a careless
turn and--crickety-crash!--the bed was apart again ... which put an end
to all hope of getting any sleep that night.
But Back-Kaisa slept peacefully through it all. It did not occur to any
of the little ones that they might awaken her and ask for help. The
former nursemaid had always jumped up the instant a bed broke down, and
quickly fixed it without having to be asked.
Just over the nursery there was a little lumber-loft full of discarded
looms and spinning-wheels, and amid all that old rubbish lived an owl.
At night that owl made a dreadful racket. To the children’s ears it
sounded as if someone were rolling big, heavy logs over their heads.
The former nursemaid used to laugh at them when they were frightened by
the noise, and say there was nothing to be scared about--it was only
the owl. But Back-Kaisa, who hailed from the forest, was afraid of all
animals, furred and feathered. They were to her like evil spirits. So,
whenever she was awakened in the night by the owl she would take out
her prayer book and begin to read. Indeed she could not soothe the
children; on the contrary, she terrified them so that the poor little
owl grew into a huge monster with tiger-claws and eagle-wings. No words
can picture how they lay shuddering to the very roots of their being at
the thought of having a horrible ogre like that right above them. What
if it should tear a hole through the ceiling with its great claws, and
come swooping down...!
It can never be said of Back-Kaisa that she neglected the children, or
beat them. But was that anything much? True, the former nursemaid had
not been so particular about keeping them neat and clean; but she was
oh, so good to them!
The children had three little wooden chairs which they regarded as
their greatest treasure. These had been presented to them by the clever
old carpenter of Askersby. Whether they were meant as compensation for
his failure with the beds, they did not know, but they rather thought
so. At any rate, the chairs were not failures. They were both light and
strong, and could be used as tables and sleds. The children could ride
them all around the room, stand upon them and jump to the floor, or lay
them down and play they were a cow shed, a stable, or a rabbit hutch.
Oh, there was nothing they could not be used for!
Why the children prized those chairs so highly could be seen at a
glance by turning them upside down. On the bottom of each chair was the
portrait of its owner. On one was Johan, a boy in blue with a long
riding whip in his hand; on another posed Anna, a dainty little maid in
a red frock and yellow leghorn hat--sniffing at a nosegay; while on the
third was Selma, a tiny tot in a blue dress and striped apron, but with
nothing in her hand and nothing on her head.
Now these portraits had been painted there to show to whom the chairs
belonged, and the children regarded them as their property in quite a
different sense from wearing apparel and other things they received
from their parents. Their clothes travelled from one to another, and
their nice toys were either locked away or set up on the corner bracket
in the parlour; but the chairs, which bore their likenesses--who would
have thought of depriving them of these?
Therefore, it was awfully mean of Back-Kaisa to put all three chairs on
top of the high birch-wood bureau, as she did sometimes, so that the
children could not get at them. What if she had but just scrubbed the
nursery and the little chairs would leave ugly marks on the wet floor
if trailed across it? The former nursemaid never would have had the
heart to take the chairs away from them. No, not even for a moment.
Fru Lagerlöf saw, to be sure, that the maid did not understand her
little ones and that they were afraid of her. But Back-Kaisa had been
hired for a year, and Fru Lagerlöf could not very well send her away
before her time was up. She hoped, however, that things would be
better in the summer, when the children could play out of doors, and
have less to do with the nursemaid.
One forenoon in the early summer, it happened that the youngest child,
a little girl, had been left alone, and asleep, in the nursery. On
awaking she sat up in bed, half-dazed, and wondered where everyone had
gone; at the same time she felt singularly drowsy and uncomfortable.
She remembered, as she came to herself somewhat, that earlier in the
day she and the other children had been to Ås Springs with their father
to bathe. On their return Back-Kaisa had put all three of them to
bed--dressed as they were--that they might nap a while before dinner.
But the beds on which Johan and Anna had lain now stood empty; so the
little girl knew, of course, that they were already up and gone.
They were perhaps out in the garden playing? She felt a bit hurt at
their running off like that, leaving her all by herself in the nursery.
She had better crawl out of bed, she thought, and hurry down to them.
The little girl was then three and a half years old, and she could
easily open the door and walk down the stairs. But to cross the
dangerous attic alone ... She listened--perhaps someone was coming to
fetch her.... No, there were no footsteps on the stair; she would have
to venture by herself.
But now that she wanted to rise from her bed she could not. She tried
again and again, only to sink back. Her legs did not seem to belong
to her; she had lost all control of them.
The child was terror-stricken. The feeling of utter helplessness which
came over her when the body refused to obey was something so dreadful
she remembered it long, long afterwards--aye, all her life.
Naturally, she began to cry. She was in great trouble, and there was no
grown person at hand to help or comfort her. But she had not been alone
such a very long while when the door opened and Back-Kaisa appeared.
“Isn’t Selma coming down to dinner? The big folk----” Back-Kaisa
stopped short.
The little girl never thought about its being the cross nursemaid who
stood in the doorway. In her desperate plight she only saw a grown
person who could help her--and put out her arms to her.
“Come and take me, Back-Kaisa!” she cried. “Come and take me!”
When the nurse came up to the bedside the little girl threw her arms
about her neck and clung to her as no child had ever done before. A
little tremor went through Back-Kaisa, and her voice was not real
steady when she asked:
“What’s the matter with Selma? Is her sick?”
“I can’t walk, Back-Kaisa,” wailed the child.
Then a pair of strong arms lifted her up as easily as if she were just
a tiny kitten, and all at once the stern, serious-minded woman knew how
to talk to a little child.
“Naa--Selma mustn’t cry for that! Back-Kaisa’s going to carry Selma.”
And with that it seemed as if all the little one’s troubles had blown
away. She was no longer afraid or unhappy. What did it matter that she
herself could not walk when Back-Kaisa would carry her! And nobody had
to tell her; she knew that one who had a good strong friend like
Back-Kaisa was not so badly off after all.
II
GRAND COMPANY
JOHAN and Anna were driven nearly to distraction by the terrible
commotion created by Selma’s illness.
That one may well understand. Johan was then seven years of age, and
learning to read under the tutelage of Herr Tyberg. He was a boy, of
course, and almost regarded as the eldest child; though, to be sure, he
had an elder brother. But the latter mostly stayed with his maternal
grandparents at Filipstad, and was hardly ever at home. And now, all at
once, it seemed that nobody had a thought for him--Johan--but only for
the littlest girl.
As for Anna--she was five, and she could already both sew and crochet.
She was pretty to look at, too, and the elder daughter, and mamma’s
pet. But what was the good of all that since Selma had gone and got
sick?
The grown-ups, you see, were so touched by the sight of a child who
could not walk. “How will the poor little thing go through life?” they
would sigh.---- “She’ll have to stay in the one place always, and never
see anything of the world.”---- “She’ll never get married and she’ll
never be able to support herself.”---- “It’s going to be cruelly hard
for her, poor child.” They were all very tender and full of pity for
the sick girl. Now _that_ Johan and Anna had nothing against; but folks
didn’t have to forget that there were other children.
The worst one of all, though, was Back-Kaisa. She carried Selma on her
back, prattled with her, and told her she was a perfect little angel.
And, indeed, Father and Mother and Granny and Auntie were not much
better. Didn’t the clever old carpenter at Askersby have to make her a
little wagon, so that Back-Kaisa might draw her about? And were Johan
and Anna ever allowed to borrow that wagon to cart sand in?--No, no!
That was for Selma’s use, and they mustn’t soil it.
Johan and Anna both knew that when Selma could walk there had been
nothing remarkable about her; but now visitors couldn’t come to the
house but she must be carried in for them to see and make a fuss over.
And if a peasant woman happened to drop into the kitchen Back-Kaisa was
there in a jiffy, showing Selma to her. The exasperating thing about it
all was that Back-Kaisa was forever saying what a good child Selma
was--she never cried and never sulked, even though so helpless. And why
shouldn’t she be good, thought Johan and Anna, the way she was treated!
Carried about, and waited on, and petted, day in and day out!
Yes, Back-Kaisa was certainly very trying, Johan and Anna agreed. She
could not bear to see Fru Lagerlöf make Anna a prettier dress than the
one Selma got; and if any one happened to say of Johan, that he was a
nice polite little boy, she’d always remark: “’Twould be a shame for
one that’s able to walk, and can go where he likes, not to be good.”
That old Doctor Hedberg of Sunne was called in time and again on
Selma’s account, Johan and Anna thought no more than right; nor did
they complain when Högman’s Inga, who often came to the manor to mumble
over sick cows and pigs, was consulted. But they felt it had gone
rather far when once, in the absence of Lieutenant Lagerlöf, Back-Kaisa
and Granny and the housekeeper put their heads together, and sent for
the dangerous old witch-doctor of Högbergssäter--she who every Maundy
Thursday greased a broomstick and went riding to the Witches’ Kitchen.
They had heard that she had the power to set fire to a house by just
looking at it, and were dreadfully uneasy the whole time she was at
Mårbacka. They thought it very wrong of Back-Kaisa to bring a horrid
creature like her to the house.
Of course Johan and Anna wanted to have Selma restored to health. They
above everyone wished her well again. All the same, they didn’t think
it a bit nice of her to go and catch a sickness no one could cure. But
Back-Kaisa must have thought differently. For when neither Doctor
Hedberg, who had so often cured them of coughs and colds, nor Högman’s
Inga, who never failed with cows and pigs, nor yet the dangerous
witch-hag, who could put life into a broomstick, had been able to help
her, Back-Kaisa vowed she was growing more and more wonderful all the
time. And when Lieutenant Lagerlöf finally took her to Karlstad and
showed her to Surgeon Major Haak, who was the best doctor in the city,
and even he could do nothing for her, then Back-Kaisa was ready to
burst with pride. Now wouldn’t it have been better if Selma had taken
on a sickness that would come to an end? So at least thought Johan and
Anna.
The worst of it was that Selma was getting quite spoiled by
Back-Kaisa’s being too good to her. Little as she was, she had found
out that it was not necessary for her to be as obedient as the other
children, who could stand on their feet. Above all, she did not have to
eat food that was not to her liking. When Fru Lagerlöf set before her a
helping of stewed carrots, or spinach, or some hard-boiled eggs, or a
plate of ale-soup, she was not expected to finish her portion as in
other days; she had only to push her plate away, and immediately
Back-Kaisa ran out to the kitchen and fetched something Selma liked.
And it was not enough with that!--Johan and Anna noticed that when
Doctor Hedberg and Högman’s Inga and the old witch had all failed to
cure her, Selma thought herself too grand to eat plain fare. Why, she
barely deigned to touch fried chicken and new potatoes and wild
strawberries and cream. But when she had been to Karlstad, and the
great Doctor Haak had said he could do nothing for her, then she would
not eat anything but pastry and preserves.
Johan and Anna had heard that Aunt Nana Hammargren, who lived in
Karlstad, was dreadfully worried about Selma, and feared she would
starve to death; and they, too, felt that unless something happened
very soon to change all this, it might end badly.
But something did happen.
One morning Back-Kaisa carried the little girl into the kitchen-bedroom
and set her down among the pillows on Grandmother Lagerlöf’s big white
bed.
“Now Selma’s going to see something,” she said.
The bed was made up--sheets and all--but it had not been slept in
during the night, and apparently no one lay there now, either.
Grandmother Lagerlöf, who was not usually up at that early hour, sat
all dressed on the corner sofa; and Aunt Lovisa, who shared the
kitchen-bedroom, was also up and dressed. They both looked happy and
content, and when the little girl was well seated on the bed they arose
and went over to her.
“Aha! Grand company came last night,” her grandmother said with a
chuckle.
The little girl laughed, too, for what could be more delightful than
having visitors in the house! She looked up and down and all around,
wondering where the grand company might be. It was nowhere in the room,
surely--not in the yellow corner-cupboard, nor behind the tall
grandfather’s clock, nor under Auntie’s chiffonier. There was only one
good hiding-place--the covered passage leading to the cellar; but the
grand company could never have crawled in there.
It was all very strange! Why was she sitting on Granny’s bed, and why
were the others standing there staring, as if the grand company were in
the bed? She glanced from one to the other, quite bewildered. Presently
Aunt Lovisa bent down and moved the pillows a little. Then Selma saw
that by her side lay a small oblong bundle, to which she attached no
importance whatever. Granny had said that grand company had come, and
grand company meant only one thing--far-come visitors who brought toys
and big bags of candy for the children. That was the company she was
looking for.
“Are they in there?” she asked, pointing toward the parlour. She
listened for the sound of voices from the next room; seeing how pleased
and elated the others were, her expectations rose high.
“Why, she’s right there beside you.” Granny lifted a corner of the
oblong bundle and revealed two tiny hands and a little wizened face.
The little girl gave the swaddling a scornful glance then looked away.
She had seen such before, and did not care for them. Her thoughts were
on the company with the candy bags.
“See,” said Aunt Lovisa, “this is a little sister who came to you last
night, and you must be good to her.”
Here was something for which she was wholly unprepared. She would have
been glad to welcome another sister--one who could walk and talk; but
this swaddling did not interest her at all.
However, it was plain to her now that no grand company had come. Granny
meant only the poor little baby, and she knew very well that _it_ had
not brought any candy.
She felt so bitterly disappointed that she just had to cry. Back-Kaisa
was obliged to carry her out to the kitchen, lest her crying awaken the
grand company.
And she had cause for tears. Her day of power and supremacy was over.
Back-Kaisa had now to help Fru Lagerlöf with the care of the little
newcomer, who was even more helpless and lost, as it were, than Selma.
One couldn’t reason with the baby, so it was always she, Selma, who had
to be patient, and wait.
From that time on they were not so keen about showing her to company.
Now it was the swaddling that was brought forward to be seen and
praised. All the glamour and greatness had dropped from her; she was no
more now than Anna or Johan.
The year that followed she had many distressing experiences. She had
not only to give up living exclusively on a diet of pastry and
preserves, but things even went so far that when Fru Lagerlöf served
her boiled carrots, or spinach, or pease-pods, no one removed her plate
and brought her other fare. She had to eat what was set before her. If
Anna received a prettier dress than Selma no one protested. On the
contrary, they all thought it only fair, since Anna was the eldest
daughter.
Ah, sometimes her heart sank way down into her boots, for she was not
altogether certain that Back-Kaisa did not care just as much for the
wee one as she did for her.
III
THE DRIVE TO KARLSTAD
BACK-KAISA and her charge were on a journey. They sat perched up on the
box of the big close-carriage with Magnus, the coachman, who was so
gripped by his responsibility of driving three horses on the dreadful
road to Karlstad that not a word could be got out of him.
On the back seat of the carriage sat Fru Lagerlöf and Mamselle Lovisa,
with Johan and Anna opposite, their backs to the horses. It was much
more fun, of course, to sit on the coach-box and watch the horses than
being shut in under the tilt. Johan would have liked to be up there
with Magnus; but Fru Lagerlöf had said it was impossible to squeeze
Back-Kaisa in on the front seat, and where she rode, Selma must ride.
Lieutenant Lagerlöf was also along on the journey, but he rode alone at
some distance ahead, in his carriole.
It was a year now since the little girl first lost the use of her legs,
and in all that time she had not set foot on the ground. She was now
being taken to the West Coast in the hope that the sea air and the
baths might possibly effect a cure. She was the only invalid among
them, but a summer at the seaside would no doubt be of benefit to all.
The little girl sitting up there on the driver’s seat had quite
forgotten her affliction. She and Back-Kaisa were going away together,
and the baby had been left at home! She was looking forward to a
revival of those happy, never-to-be-forgotten times.
Snuggling close to the nurse, she put her arms about her neck and asked
her again and again if she was not glad that they two could now be
together, with no one to disturb them.
There was no reply. But the little girl did not much mind; Back-Kaisa
had never been a talking person.
The great highroad to Karlstad was just one hill after another. There
was the tortuous stretch round Bävik and Gunnarsby Hill, which was
about three and a half English miles long; then came the steep grade up
to the Sundgård mountains which was close to vertical. But most
perilous of all was Kleva towering above an abyss. It was up and down
the whole time, as if one were see-sawing between heaven and earth.
Lieutenant Lagerlöf, to make the going easier, had ordered three horses
put to the carriage--an arrangement to which neither horses nor driver
was accustomed.
If anything was calculated to increase the little girl’s delight at
having Back-Kaisa all to herself once more, it was being allowed to sit
where she could look down at the frisky horses that dashed on as if the
heavy carriage were only a toy wagon, tearing round the curves, with
the vehicle sometimes on two wheels. Often the horses would stiffen
their legs and make the downgrade almost on their haunches, and when
they came to a sudden drop in the road, Magnus would stand up and use
the whip desperately, to urge the horses on so that the high carriage
would not come tumbling over them.
In the middle of one of these break-neck descents the little girl again
turned to the nurse and said:
“Aren’t you glad, Back-Kaisa, to be alone with me? Aren’t you glad,
Back-Kaisa, the baby isn’t along?”
There came no response now, either; and wondering, the child turned so
that she could see the nurse’s face.... Back-Kaisa sat holding on to
the seat, a fixed stare in her eyes, her lips compressed, her face the
hue of ashes. “Isn’t Back-Kaisa glad----?” But the little girl now saw
that Back-Kaisa was far from glad and she was so crestfallen she could
have cried.
Then at last Back-Kaisa spoke:
“Hush up, Selma! You mustn’t talk when you’re facing such danger!
Never’ve I known worse! But for your sake, I’d ’ve got down and gone
home long ago.”
The little girl sat pondering the reply, not quite satisfied. She was
never afraid when with Back-Kaisa, so why should Back-Kaisa be afraid
when she was with _her?_ It was nice of her, though, not to get down
and go home; but it would have been nicer if she had felt too happy to
be scared.
IV
IN THE CABIN ON THE “UDDEHOLM”
THE Mårbacka folk, though still on their journey, no longer sat in fear
and trembling in the jolting carriage. Now they were on board a fine
steamer called the _Uddeholm._
They had spent the day in Karlstad, shopping and visiting with
relatives. Toward evening they left the city and stood waiting a good
while on the long pier that shoots far out into big Lake Vänern. No
shore being visible in one direction, Back-Kaisa had at once become
alarmed; she thought that _over there_ must be the edge of the world.
Wonderful to behold--for her as for the others--was the pretty steamer
as she emerged from that “shoreless place” and came gliding toward the
pier to take them on board.
When Back-Kaisa saw how her master and mistress, Mamselle Lovisa,
Johan, and Anna all went up the gangplank without the least hesitancy,
she of course followed, albeit reluctantly. She probably thought
Lieutenant Lagerlöf had conscience enough not to expose his little ones
deliberately to the peril of death. But what would become of them once
they reached the world’s end? That was something beyond her ken. She
would have liked to remain on deck to see whether the water went down a
chasm, or wherever it went. But when dusk began to settle, the Mårbacka
women and children were requested to go below-decks. They were
conducted into something called a cabin, the smallest room they had
ever seen, where they arranged themselves for the night.
On a narrow sofa that took up the whole side of one wall, Fru Lagerlöf
lay without undressing. Opposite, on a similar sofa, was Mamselle
Lovisa. Over Fru Lagerlöf, on a sort of shelf, Johan was stowed, and
Anna occupied another shelf above Mamselle Lovisa’s sofa. On the floor,
between the two sofas, with some blankets under them, lay Back-Kaisa
and Selma. Thus, every bit of space was occupied; there was not the
least little corner where one might stand or sit.
The lights were extinguished, the good-nights said, and everyone
settled down to sleep. For a time it was dead still in the cabin. Then,
all at once, the floor began to go up and down in the strangest way!
The little girl rolled like a ball, first over toward Fru Lagerlöf’s
sofa, then back toward the nurse. It was great fun; only she could not
understand why the floor did not hold still. Presently she heard her
mother and her aunt whisper to each other.
“I must have eaten too much of that rich salmon at the Sjöstedts’,”
said her mother.
“I thought at the time it was not very sensible food they set before
us,” Aunt Lovisa remarked. “And they knew we were to be out on Vänern.”
“No, Vänern isn’t pleasant!” sighed Fru Lagerlöf.
Then Back-Kaisa, too, began to whisper.
“Say, _Frua_, are we there yet?--there where the sea stops, and the
water rushes down the bottomless pit?”
“My dear girl, there’ll be no stop to the sea to-night!” said Fru
Lagerlöf, who did not know what Back-Kaisa was talking about.
Again there was silence for a space, but not stillness. The floor
rocked on and the little girl continued her delightful rolling.
Fru Lagerlöf struck a match and lit the lantern.
“I must see whether the children are able to hold themselves on their
shelves,” she said.
“Lord be praised for the light!” said Mamselle Lovisa. “Anyhow, there’s
no chance of our getting a wink of sleep to-night.”
“Oh, Frua! Oh, Mamselle Lovisa! don’t you feel that we’re going down
and down?” Back-Kaisa wailed. “Oh, how’ll we ever get out of this deep?
How’ll we ever get back home?”
“Now, whatever does she mean?” queried Mamselle Lovisa.
“She says that we have reached the last extremity,” Fru Lagerlöf
interpreted--no more comprehending than the other.
The little girl had a faint suspicion that they were uneasy. As for
herself, she was exceedingly comfortable, lying as it were in a big
rocking-swing.
The door-handle turned, the red hanging was swept to one side, and in
the doorway stood Lieutenant Lagerlöf, chuckling.
“How is it, Gustaf?” asked Fru Lagerlöf anxiously. “Will it be a gale,
do you think?”
“So you’re awake, all of you,” said the Lieutenant. “Ay, it has blown
up a bit,” he conceded in a reassuring tone. “The Captain thought I’d
better come down and tell you it will be no worse than it is.”
“What are you up to now?” Mamselle Lovisa asked him. “Aren’t you going
to bed?”
“Where do you think I should sleep, Sister dear?” And there was
something so screamingly funny about him as he stood in the doorway
(further he could not come), looking up and down as if in search of a
sleeping place--it set them all laughing. Fru Lagerlöf and Mamselle
Lovisa, who had been lying there fearful and a little seasick, now sat
up in their bunks to have their laugh out. Johan and Anna laughed so
hard they nearly shook themselves off their “shelves.” Back-Kaisa
forgot for the moment that she would soon be at that dreadful place
where the lake ends, and laughed, too, and the little girl by her side
was fairly choking with laughter.
Lieutenant Lagerlöf, who seldom laughed aloud, looked highly pleased.
“All’s right with you, I see,” he said. “So now I’ll go up again and
chin with the captain.” Whereupon he bade them a cheery good-night, and
went his way.
In the cabin the feeling of uneasiness and the qualms of seasickness
returned. Fru Lagerlöf again made futile attempts to quiet Back-Kaisa,
who went on moaning and wailing that they were getting nearer and
nearer that bottomless pit. The little girl by her side must have
fallen asleep, for she remembered no more of that night’s experiences.
V
AT THE GOLDSMITH’S SHOP
THE most trying part of the journey was over. The travellers were
safely landed at Göteborg, where they cast away all care and set out in
the glorious summer weather to view the city.
They wandered up Östra Hamngatan. Lieutenant Lagerlöf, stick in hand,
hat pushed far back on his head, spectacles drawn far down on his nose,
was in the lead. Behind him walked Fru Lagerlöf, holding Johan by the
hand; behind her, Mamselle Lovisa, leading Anna; and last came
Back-Kaisa who carried Selma on her arm--for it would never do, she
thought, to let the little girl ride pig-back in a city.
Lieutenant Lagerlöf had donned a brown coat and light straw hat. Fru
Lagerlöf and Mamselle Lovisa were attired in voluminous black silk
skirts and fine velvet bodices, with white inserts and wrist-ruffles,
over which they wore large cashmere shawls--folded tricornerwise--that
almost concealed their dresses; and they had on Panama hats with broad,
floppy brims. Johan was in black velvet breeches and smock, and Anna
was dressed in a stiffly starched blue polka-dot print worn over a
crinoline; and she had both hat and parasol. Selma had on a dress
exactly like Anna’s, only she was wearing a sunbonnet instead of a hat,
and had neither parasol nor crinoline.
The Lieutenant suddenly halted, turned, and looked back at his line of
women and children. He nodded and smiled. It was plain he liked having
them with him.
“Here none of us has ever been before,” he said, “so now we’ll look
about.”
They sauntered on up the street, now looking at the buildings, now at
the canals and little bridges, at passing vehicles and promenaders, at
signs and lamp-posts; but most of all, of course, they peered into shop
windows.
The Lieutenant did not hurry them, he wanted them to see and enjoy as
much as their eyes could take in.
“Nobody here knows us, so gaze as long as you like,” said he.
Mamselle Lovisa stopped before a milliner’s window, where a hat trimmed
with white swansdown and pink rosebuds had caught her eye. There she
stood, with Anna by the hand, as if rooted to the spot. And of course
Lieutenant and Fru Lagerlöf, Johan, Back-Kaisa, and Selma were also
obliged to stop before the swansdown hat. But Mamselle Lovisa was not
thinking of them; she stood as in a trance. It tickled the Lieutenant
to see her so carried away, though after a long, vain wait for her to
“come back,” so to speak, he lost patience.
“You’re not thinking of copying that hat, Lovisa?” he said. “Why,
that’s more suitable for a girl of seventeen.”
“It may be a pleasure perhaps for one who is not so young to look at
pretty things,” retorted Mamselle Lovisa, who, though past her first
youth, was still comely and rather elegant in her attire.
When they were well away from the swansdown hat they came to a
goldsmith’s shop. Now it was the Lieutenant who stopped first. As he
stood feasting his eyes on the trays of sparkling rings and bracelets,
shining silver spoons and goblets, and much else displayed in the
window, he ejaculated innocent oaths of delight.
“Here we’ll go in!” he said abruptly.
“But, Gustaf!” Fru Lagerlöf protested, “we can’t be buying such things
now.”
She laid a restraining hand on his arm, for he had already opened the
big plate-glass door of the shop and was stepping in. There was nothing
for the others to do but follow. By the time they were all inside he
was over at the counter talking to a young clerk.
“No, thank you, I don’t wish to buy anything,” he said. “But, seeing so
many choice things in the window, I thought I’d just step in and ask if
I might also have a peep at the fine wares you have in the shop.”
The clerk looked a bit uneasy, and seemed at a loss what to reply. Fru
Lagerlöf and Mamselle Lovisa now stood with their hands on the
Lieutenant’s shoulders, trying to drag him away.
The goldsmith himself presently emerged from an inner room. He had
evidently heard them come in, and probably thought he would do a brisk
trade. Placing himself beside the clerk, he put the flat of his hands
on the counter and inquired invitingly what was desired.
Lieutenant Lagerlöf repeated in substance what he had said to the
clerk--that he would very much like to see the beautiful wares in the
place though he could not afford to purchase any.
The goldsmith cocked his head and looked at the Lieutenant out of the
corner of his eye.
“The gentleman, I take it, is a Värmlander?” he said.
“Hell, yes, of course I’m a Värmlander!” the Lieutenant wagged back.
“What the deuce else should I be?”
Then everybody roared. The clerks all crowded round the Lieutenant, and
from the inner rooms came a finely dressed woman--the wife of the
goldsmith--who wanted to know what the fun was about.
Fru Lagerlöf and Mamselle Lovisa were so mortified they could have
wished themselves back in the jolting carriage on the Karlstad road, or
the rocking boat on stormy Vänern--anywhere but in that fine shop!
“Come now, Gustaf,” they urged, “for pity’s sake let us get out of
here!”
“No, no, please don’t go!” begged the goldsmith in his most persuasive
tone. “We should be so happy to show you what we carry here.”
He gave orders to the clerks, who ran up ladders and brought down
everything from the shelves, opened cabinets, and took out all their
contents, so that the long counter was literally covered with gold and
silverware. The shop-keeper and his wife took up each article and
showed it to the strangers, explaining its workmanship and what it was
for.
Lieutenant Lagerlöf drew off his spectacles and polished the lenses
with his silk handkerchief, the better to see. He picked up heavy
silver tankards and examined their ornamentations, admiring and
praising them.
“I say, Lovisa, this is worse than at the Deanery in Sunne!” he
remarked to his sister.
Another time he held a large silver salver before the eyes of
Back-Kaisa. “The Giant of Åsbergen doesn’t dine off finer plate--eh,
Kaisa?” he said.
The clerks sniggered and joked among themselves, having fun at his
expense. The goldsmith and his wife were also enjoying themselves, but
in a different way. They were friendly, and liked the Lieutenant. It
was not long before they knew who he was, and whom he had with him;
that he was on his way to Strömstad to seek a cure for a child who had
some hip trouble and could not walk.
Fru Lagerlöf and Mamselle Lovisa, seeing that all went well, composed
themselves and began to look at and delight in the display. Fru
Lagerlöf was pleased to find an old design in silver spoons, such as
they once had in her parental home, and Mamselle Lovisa became quite
as enraptured with a sugar bowl as she had been shortly before with the
swansdown hat.
When they had finally seen enough and were saying good-bye, it seemed
almost as if they were parting from old friends. The goldsmith, his
wife, and all the clerks followed them out into the street. Passers-by
must have thought they had made purchases amounting to thousands of
kronor.
“I really must apologize,” said Lieutenant Lagerlöf, putting out his
hand in a final farewell.
“Don’t think of it, Lieutenant!” answered the goldsmith.
“But we have put you to so much trouble,” Fru Lagerlöf interpolated in
a deprecating tone.
“We have had a most enjoyable hour,” the goldsmith assured her, “so
don’t be uneasy about us! One has to do something for one’s own
pleasure, now and then, though one does stand in a shop.”
As the Lieutenant continued his stroll up Östra Hamngatan his hat was
pushed farther back on his head than usual. He flourished his cane as
he stepped along, proud of his adventure.
Fru Lagerlöf said in a low voice to Mamselle Lovisa: “I can’t tell you
how anxious I was; I thought we would surely be thrown out.”
“It would never have done for any one but Gustaf,” replied Mamselle
Lovisa, “but no one can resist him.”
VI
GRAY ISLAND
NOW the Mårbacka folk had no anxiety in providing for the table; they
had only to run out to the market and purchase whatever was needed.
They were not worrying about the cows not having good pasturage, nor
the oats not coming up; they lived amid barren cliffs and water, and
had forgotten there were such things in the world as fields and
meadows. Nor did they have to stand in a hot kitchen preparing fancy
dishes for far-come guests, nor worry their heads out of joint
wondering where they’d find sleeping-room and bedding enough for all.
If the animals sickened or the housekeeper and the maids fell to
quarrelling, they were blissfully unaware of it. They had freedom and
leisure for healthful amusements, with no cares or annoyances of any
sort.
Never had they led such an easy, comfortable life. Fru Lagerlöf, who
had come to Strömstad rather thin and worn, took on flesh and colour.
She soon looked and felt ten years younger. Mamselle Lovisa, who was
quite stout and logy, and so diffident she could hardly open her mouth
when among strangers, lost weight, grew better looking, and more
sociable. Johan and Anna made many friends among the little Strömstad
children. Johan was quite wild about crabbing, and Anna had become so
attached to two little girls, daughters of the confectioner, who were
continually treating her to sweets, they both declared they never
wanted to go home again.
As for the little sick girl, there had been no marked improvement; she
was apparently no better or stronger. But that did not seem to trouble
her. She had got her wish: Back-Kaisa and she were again inseparable
friends; she could order her about and was being petted and spoiled by
her just as in the first days of her illness.
But the one who had the best time was Lieutenant Lagerlöf. The first
week or so he must have got many a sharp look and curt reply when he
spoke to every person he met, as was his wont when walking along the
road at home. But he was not daunted. It was a point of honour with him
to be on friendly terms with people. Nor could the Strömstaders resist
him in the long run. A smile lighted up the solemn faces of the pious
women of the Schartuan sect when they passed him in the street. He had
been in their cottages and drunk coffee with them, had asked after
their husbands, and had praised their children. A gang of small boys
tagged after him in the street, for they had discovered that he always
had a pocketful of coppers. With the fishermen he was on so solid a
footing that one after another asked him to go out mackerel fishing.
All the old retired sea captains, who went about at home bored and
longing to be out at sea, treated him to grog on their little verandas,
and told him of their adventures and perils in the days when they
knocked about the world.
Lieutenant Lagerlöf liked the people, and wanted to know how they lived
their lives in their part of the country. He was no respecter of
persons, but spoke to all, high and low, and he never lacked for topics
of conversation. Good-humoured, kindly man that he was, it was not
strange the Strömstaders liked him. And it cannot be said that he did
not know his power.
Fortune favoured the Mårbacka folk in every way on this sojourn. For
one thing, they found dear old friends from Värmland, in whose company
they spent many pleasant hours. They were a Professor Tobiaeson of
Filipstad, his wife and two sisters, and Professor Lundström, a
bachelor--all of their own social circle.
Together, they made up a boating party and went sailing nearly every
day. These outings were the delight of the children, for the
Lieutenant, in his inimitable way, would then tell of his interesting
encounters with the Strömstad folk. Besides, they always had a couple
of large, well-stocked hampers in the boat, so that when they grew
tired of sailing they could go ashore on one of the little rock islands
and have a picnic spread. Then the children would run about and gather
sea-shells--something they had never seen before. They wondered at
their being allowed to take as many as they wished of these rare
treasures, and they loved them as they loved the flowers and the
berries of the field.
They were now out on one of their cruises. The weather was fine with
just enough wind; the picnic baskets were full of goodies, and the
Lieutenant was loaded with anecdotes. Everyone was looking forward to a
pleasant evening.
Then, unhappily, some one remarked that they had not yet visited the
island just outside Strömstad known as Gray Island. So they immediately
decided to lay-to at the island on the return sail, and have their
little supper there.
It seems that some hundred years back there lived on Gray Island an
infamous old troll named Tita Gray, who was said to be more powerful
than the Old Nick himself. When she was alive no human being was
allowed to set foot on the island. Those who ventured met with instant
mishap--broke an arm or a leg or slipped on the slimy rocks, and fell
into the sea.
Since Tita Gray had long been dead and gone, it must be quite safe to
visit the island, they thought. All the same the skipper warned them.
He told how he and a couple of fellows were walking across the island
one day in the spring, when suddenly one of them went down a cleft and
fractured his leg.
That made the island all the more alluring to the party; they could
hardly wait to set foot on it. Presently the boat turned toward the
island and slipped in under the towering cliff wall. The skipper
looked for a suitable mooring place.
Just then little Anna pulled at her mother’s arm, and said: “Mamma,
Selma is crying.”
True, the child sat weeping. She had not been at all afraid during the
sail--not till that moment. She, like the others, had thought it would
be great fun to go ashore on Gray Island; but now that they were right
under the rocky cliff, it looked so dark and menacing.
They all asked her why she was crying, but she would not say. She could
not tell them she was afraid of a rock. However, she escaped further
questioning, for the skipper had at last found a landing-place, and
they had something else to think of.
The instant the boat struck, Professor Lundström seized the painter and
jumped ashore. Then, as if an invisible hand had dealt him a blow in
the chest, he staggered backwards and slipped off the ledge into the
sea.
There was great consternation, and cries of alarm went up, but there
was no long agony of suspense. With the swiftness of a gull after a
fish, the skipper reached over the side of the boat, nabbed the long
professor by the coat-collar and drew him up, dripping wet, of course,
but quite unhurt.
Naturally, they were all very much shaken by the ghastly sight of a man
going down into the perilous deep, and though, luckily, nothing serious
had happened, they could not throw off their depression.
Professor Lundström then suggested that the whole party go ashore, and
let him take the boat so that he might go back to Strömstad and change
his clothes. As it was only a short sail, the boat could return for
them whenever they wished.
But they had had enough of Gray Island. No one felt the least desire to
step ashore and climb the threatening cliff.
As they sailed back to Strömstad they must have wondered if after all
there was not some truth in the old myth about the island. In any case,
it was a strange coincidence that the mishap should have occurred just
there. They had been to most of the other little islands of the
Strömstad skerries, and all had gone well.
“I thought it almost uncanny when the child began to cry,” said one of
the sisters Tobiaeson. “I knew then that something would happen.”
“Now what does Lieutenant Lagerlöf think about it?” queried the other
sister.