up the old kitchen garden and the little rose garden, the old trampled
sward, the ground where the old barn had stood, and the calf ward, so
as to have the grounds cleared for the laying of the garden in the
spring.
“Is it true that you’re going to remove the kitchen garden?” said
Mamselle Lovisa. “To be sure I don’t know anything, but I have heard
folks say that when the apple trees are allowed to grow in the herb
beds they bear well, but if one plants sod round them one can’t expect
much fruit.”
“But dear little Lovisa, I thought you would be glad to have a real
garden!”
“Glad! Should I be glad that you are destroying the old Mårbacka? Soon
we won’t know the place at all.”
The Lieutenant thought his sister unusually contentious in this
instance, which was the more surprising because she had always loved
flowers and cared for all the house plants. But at that time, which was
shortly after her engagement had been broken and she was still
suffering from the disappointment, he could not say a harsh word to
her. All day long she paced the floor of her room and he could hear her
restless steps when he sat in the living room reading. He understood
that she was not just then quite mistress of herself, and thought it a
favourable sign that she took an interest in something outside her own
unhappiness. It was better that she should disapprove of his garden
than be continually brooding on whether she had been too hasty in
sending back the betrothal ring, or whether her fiancé had turned
against her because she had put a few leaves of whortleberry in Kaisa
Nilsdotter’s bridal-crown.
In those days there was an old landscape gardener living in Fryksdalen
who in his prime had been head gardener on various large estates. He
had the name of being a veritable wizard at garden making, and when
anyone contemplated laying out a new garden his advice and assistance
were sought.
The Lieutenant had asked him to come to Mårbacka, and in the spring, as
soon as the frost was out of the ground, the old man appeared with his
drawings and prints. A large corps of workmen was placed at his
command; quantities of bushes and trees ordered from the Göteborg
nurseries had come, and the big work was now started.
When the ground had been levelled the gardener and the Lieutenant went
about all day staking out grass plots and gravel walks. The old man
informed the Lieutenant that it was no longer the custom to follow the
severely regular French style. Now the paths must all be winding and
the borders and flower beds in easy, graceful lines. What he had in
mind for Mårbacka he called the English style; but the Lieutenant
rather suspected that the style was the old man’s own and not of
foreign origin.
In front they laid out a big circular lawn, on one side of which they
set out shrubbery in the shape of an egg, and on the other shrubbery in
the form of a horn of plenty, while in the middle of the round they
planted a weeping ash. Up toward the veranda they staked out a
star-shaped flower bed, placing as a guard about it four provence-rose
bushes--each on its own little round spot.
On the old sand-plot just below the kitchen windows they staked out a
large triangle and filled it with rich soil, in which they transplanted
the rose bushes from the old rose garden. For of roses they could never
have enough. Along the front of the house they set out a low hedge of
primroses, and two white-brier-rose bushes were given the places of
honour, the one before the parlour window, the other before the front
bedroom window.
The Lieutenant took such keen delight in this work that he went about
with the gardener all day, and Fru Lagerlöf would snatch long moments
from her sewing to go out and have a look at the garden; but Mamselle
Lovisa persistently kept to her room. This delightful spring work only
tended to increase her sadness. She would rather have had the old
trampled sward, with its one little tangle of snowberry bushes. All
these innovations seemed to her so unnecessary. But what she thought or
said was immaterial; just the same, folk had managed to live at
Mårbacka before. All these modern improvements only meant a lot of
bother and needless expense.
But the work went on despite her disapproval. Round the stable the
gardener planted a hedge of lilacs, also on three sides of the dwelling
house, while along the wing he set out a hedge of spiræas. That done,
the Lieutenant and the gardener went at the old Wennervik kitchen
garden. The fine apple trees they let stand where they were, but the
ground about them was laid out in the old man’s “English” style, with
winding gravel paths and grass plots arranged in various designs. With
much skill and calculation each grass plot was embellished with round,
oblong, or triangular beds and planted with perennials. Yellow cowslips
bordered blue iris, orange crown-imperials edged purple hyssop, and
encircling the red carnations was a wreath of pink bellis.
The flower beds of course were up round the dwelling house. Farther
back, on both the north and south sides, place was made for gooseberry
and currant bushes, for strawberry patches, for plum trees, pear trees,
and ever so many cherry trees. At the far southern end, quite a
distance away and well out of sight, lay the new kitchen garden, while
at the north end was a little birch grove, bordered by mountain ash and
bird-cherry trees. This grove the gardener included in his design, in
order to create at least the suggestion of a park. He intersected the
grove with many narrow winding gravel walks. In three places he cleared
away the trees to make room for tables and seats. The first open space
was an oblong spot with settees on all sides. Here the lady of the
house was to receive her guests, and it was to be called the Tea
Corner. The second was a square, with four seats round a table. That
was for the master and his company, and the old man jokingly dubbed it
the Toddy Corner. The third space had only a long, narrow bench. That
was the children’s domain, and was to be known as the Kiddies’ Corner.
But all this planting left Mamselle Lovisa indifferent. It may almost
be said that she scorned and detested it. She had not yet set foot in
the new garden.
Soon pale-green sprouts sprang up in the sod, the newly planted bushes
sent forth tender, shy little leaves, the perennial plants pushed
through the soil of the garden beds; oaks, chestnuts, and Lombardy
poplars, which had been planted in the old barn lot, began to bud and
show that they were alive.
In the midst of this busy time an unexpected difficulty arose. The old
gardener was obliged to go home for a few days, to see to his own
garden. That would not have mattered much but for the hot-bed he had
made in order to coax up some asters and gilly-flowers for the beds in
the front yard.
“Who is going to tend the hot-bed while I’m away?” said the old
gardener. “You know, Lieutenant, a hot-bed needs constant watching.”
“I’ll do it myself,” the Lieutenant replied; for by that time he
thought himself almost a master gardener. He let the old man show him
how to air and water the plants.
The morning the gardener left there was bright, strong sunshine. Along
in the forenoon the Lieutenant in alarm went up to the house to find
his wife. As she was nowhere about he rushed into his sister’s room.
“You’ll have to come and help me with the hot-bed, Lovisa,” he said.
Then, remembering that Mamselle Lovisa would not even look at his
garden and took no interest whatever in his work, he thought: “Oh,
well, it’s said now, and she can’t do more than refuse.”
But instead she eagerly got up and went out with him. Instantly she saw
the little plants, which were wilted and drooping, she exclaimed:
“The sun is too strong on them, they must be shaded.” Then she found
something with which to protect them, and the plants were saved.
The next day the Lieutenant had to attend a school examination. When
well on his way he suddenly remembered the hot-bed. There was the same
scorching heat that day as on the previous one. Now the little plants
would surely be burnt up, he thought.
The moment he got home he hurried over to the hot-bed. To his surprise
and delight all was well; the plants stood up, erect and sturdy. His
sister had thought of the poor little things which he had neglected. He
promptly decided not to forget to water and close the hot-bed that
evening. Sometime after supper he sprang up in alarm.
“Why, I’m forgetting the hot-bed! It should have been closed this long
while.”
Mamselle Lovisa said nothing, but let him go see for himself. He found
the glass lids down and the covers spread over them.
The following day the Lieutenant did not look at the hot-bed or give it
a thought. All the same, the little plants fared well. Mamselle Lovisa
weeded and loosened the soil round them, watered and tended them in
every way. It seemed rather strange that only she should think of the
hot-bed; but for her everything sown there would have died. Of course
she wished the old gardener would return and relieve her of the work;
but while he was away she had to go on with it.
He was gone longer than expected. In the meantime the plants were
growing almost too large for transplanting. There was no other course
than for Mamselle Lovisa to set them out in the flower beds herself.
When that much had been done, what could she do but go on weeding
and watering them all summer, until the gilly, petunia, aster, and
snap-dragon plants were in bloom!
And when the perfectly formed star before the front steps at Mårbacka
appeared resplendent with bright colours, then in some mysterious way
the pain was gone from Mamselle Lovisa’s wounded heart. The little
plants had requited the loving care she had bestowed upon them. They
had given her a new interest in life, a new field of activity.
Lieutenant Lagerlöf did not have to engage a head gardener for
Mårbacka; Mamselle Lovisa had inherited the old Wennervik bent, and it
was she who took care of the garden. The flowers were her faithful
friends; they loved her as she loved them. People wondered how she
could get them to bloom and glow as in no other garden. They did not
know that the flowers had caught colour and sweetness from her vanished
dream of happiness.
IV
THE ROOF TRUSSES
WHEN Lieutenant Lagerlöf and his little daughters walked in the garden
or out in the fields they often talked of what they would do if the
King came to Mårbacka.
In those days the King used to drive through Värmland several times a
year on his way to and from Norway, and he had to stop somewhere for
refreshment and rest. Most frequently he stayed over in Karlstad, at
the Governor’s house, and it was also his wont to honour with a royal
visit the great manors which lay along his route, and where they could
conveniently entertain him.
Of course there was not the least likelihood that the King would come
to a little unknown place like Mårbacka, which, to boot, lay far from
the great highway. But that did not trouble the Lieutenant and his
little girls. It would not have been such fun perhaps to talk about
this had there been any chance of the King’s really coming. Now it was
only a pleasure to build in fancy a triumphal arch for His Majesty, and
strew flowers in his way as he drove up. The little girls wondered if
they should dress in white when the King came and the Lieutenant
generously promised them new white frocks made by the best sempstress
in East Ämtervik for the grand occasion.
The Lieutenant and the children pictured to themselves how the King,
when nearing Mårbacka, would suddenly shade his eyes with his hand so
as to see better.
“What is that great white building over there in the meadow?” he would
ask. “Have they two churches in this parish?”
“No, your Majesty,” the Lieutenant would then reply (for of course he
was to ride with the King), “that white building is not a church, it is
my cow-barn.”
Then the King would look at him in wide-eyed wonder, and say:
“By Jove! You must be a deucedly clever fellow, Eric Gustaf, to have
built yourself a barn like that!”
How they were to house the King and all his retinue in the little
one-story dwelling--that was an almost unsolvable problem. The
Lieutenant had often talked of building another story, and they were
all agreed that when that was finished it would be an easy matter to
entertain the King. Even then they probably would be a bit cramped for
space. The Lieutenant and his wife might have to spend the night in the
hay-loft, and the children--well, they could sleep in the rabbit hutch.
Now that about the rabbit hutch tickled the little girls immensely. And
they wondered what the King would say about the garden. Of course he
would marvel to find away back here in the farming country a garden
laid out in the true English manner. At that, the Lieutenant would
immediately send word to the old gardener and hearten him with the good
news that the King had praised his flower beds and gravel paths.
And then when the King was leaving Mårbacka he would present Fru
Lagerlöf with a gold brooch and Mamselle Lovisa with a gold bracelet,
and the old housekeeper would receive a large shawl-pin of silver.
Before stepping into his carriage, His Majesty would shake hands with
the Lieutenant, and say:
“Thanks and honour to you, Eric Gustaf Lagerlöf! It is but a modest bit
of my realm that is in your keeping, but I see that you take good care
of it.”
Those words the Lieutenant would remember with joy as long as he lived.
He and his children had right merry times on these little excursions
into the land of make-believe. It was a pity, though, that the royal
visit could not really and truly come about until the Lieutenant had
built a second story.
Then, lo and behold, at the close of the eighteen-sixties, when the
Lieutenant had finished with everything else, he was ready to start
remodelling the house. The royal visit apart, they were rather closely
housed in the old one-story dwelling. The Lieutenant had already made
some alterations. Eight or ten years back he had cut out larger window
openings and had done away with the small-paned sashes. He had also
put up new tile-stoves, papered the walls of the parlour and living
room, and built a large veranda in place of the old porch.
Now there were to be still further improvements. The whole roof was to
be torn off, the trusses raised, and the timber walls heightened. The
year before he had had a couple of good carpenters at work on the place
preparing the new roof trusses, so that the roof could be raised and
covered as quickly as possible. The workmen had but just finished the
trusses when the Lieutenant got word that his father-in-law had passed
away. This was a sad loss and a heavy blow as well. The Lieutenant had
lost his main prop and stay. Hereafter he would have no one but himself
to depend on. Now out of his estate he must pay all contracted debts.
His sons were then nearly grown and must soon be sent to the University
of Upsala; therefore he thought it best to postpone the building work
for a year or so.
But what one puts off is likely to be left undone. Fresh obstacles
continually loomed in the way of this work. One year the Lieutenant was
ill, and the next he had to help a brother-in-law who had once been
well-to-do but must now have a yearly stipend. While the Lieutenant had
been labouring to build up his property the years had passed without
his noting them. He was now a man of fifty, and the old daring spirit
of enterprise had perhaps slipped away from him.
It was with no light heart he relinquished his cherished plan of
rebuilding the house. That was to have been his crowning work. All his
life he had dreamed of erecting a fine manor-house on his beloved
Mårbacka.
The great piles of timber and the finished roof trusses lay in the
backyard for many years. Whenever the Lieutenant walked past them he
turned his head away; he could not bear to look at them. His little
daughters had been so very happy when he started on the roof trusses,
and not altogether on account of the “royal visit.” It was perhaps of
more importance to them that they should have a real salon to dance in,
and that the house should have two stories, and be as grand as
Iron-Master Wallroth’s Gårdsjö or Engineer Noreen’s country seat. They
grew uneasy over the delay, year after year, and one of the girls
finally mustered the courage to ask her father when he was going to put
up those roof trusses.
“I’m afraid never, my child!” When he said this his face twitched and
there was a strange catch in his voice. Then, quickly recovering
himself, he added, banteringly:
“But it doesn’t matter now, my girl. They are building a railway to
Norway, and hereafter the King won’t come asking for a night’s lodging,
either at Mårbacka or any other manor in Värmland.”
WORKDAYS AND FÊTE-DAYS
I
NOONING
LIEUTENANT LAGERLÖF believed that children, in order to grow up healthy
and strong and become useful and capable men and women, should above
all things acquire the habit of nooning. With that object in mind,
always, after the midday meal, he would take the two youngest children
down to the farm-office, which was in another building a few steps from
the house.
The office was a large room, and probably looked about the same as in
the days of the Mårbacka clergymen, when it had been their study. At
the far end, under a window, there was a black leather lounge, and
before it an oblong table. Along one side-wall stood a bedstead, a
black leather-seated chair, a large black walnut writing table, and a
high chest of drawers, while at the other side stood another bed and
black leather chair and a tile stove. On the wall, beyond the stove,
hung three fowling pieces, a seal-skin game-bag, a large horse-pistol,
a couple of powder horns, and a fencing foil which crossed a broken
sabre. In the midst of this armoury rested a huge pair of elk antlers.
Down by the door, on one side, there was a stationary clothes
cupboard, on the other side, a bookcase. At the bottom of the cupboard
reposed the Lieutenant’s iron-bound oak chest, the one the Paymaster of
the Regiment had used, and which was a bit charred on one corner.
In the bookcase the Lieutenant kept his big ledgers, and there, also,
were the school books of two generations. Many annuals of the _European
Feuilleton_ were crowded in with Homer, Cicero, and Livy. Histories of
Peter the Great and Frederick the Wise had been relegated hither on
account of their common drab cardboard bindings, also the works of
Wilhelm von Braun--though not because of their covers but for other
reasons. On the floor lay surveyors’ instruments from the time the
Lieutenant had assisted in the shifting of boundary lines; also some
boxes of fishing tackle and odds and ends.
First thing, on coming into the office, the Lieutenant and his little
daughters had to drive out the flies. Doors and windows were thrown
wide open. The Lieutenant caught up a towel for the chase, and the
little girls took off their aprons and went to beating the air. They
climbed on to chairs and tables, hunted and swatted, while the buzzing
flies flew hither and yon, as if determined not to go. However, in the
end they were cleared out, and windows and doors were closed.
But there was one fly they called the Old Office Fly; she was used to
the daily chase, and knew enough to keep out of the way while it went
on. When all was quiet and peaceful again, she would come forth from
her hiding place and seat herself on the ceiling.
No fresh chase was started for her. The Lieutenant and the children
knew that she was too canny for them. They could never get rid of her!
So they went on to the next thing to be done before nooning. The girls
arranged two leather pillows and a down pillow on the lounge as a
head-rest for the Lieutenant; whereupon he stretched himself out, shut
his eyes, and simulated sleep.
Then, with wild shrieks, the children threw themselves upon him. He
tossed them off as if they were little balls of yarn, but back they
came like playful puppies. They pulled his whiskers, ruffled his hair,
and clambered up on to the sofa, playing all sorts of pranks on him.
When the Lieutenant thought the children had had enough of play he
clapped his hands once, and said:
“It’s over now.”
Little good that did! The children kept right on; again and again they
crawled up on to the sofa, were flung off, and came bounding
back--shrieking and making a fearful racket.
When that had gone on for some little time, the Lieutenant clapped
twice and said: “It’s quite over now.”
Nor did that have any effect. The same performance was repeated amid
shrieks and laughter, until the Lieutenant presently clapped his hands
three times, and said:
“Now it is really and truly over.”
The two children instantly hushed their noise, and each crept into her
own bed to sleep.
After a little the Lieutenant began to snore. His snores were not very
loud, but they were enough to keep the two children, who were to
acquire the habit of nooning, awake.
The youngsters were not allowed to get out of bed or speak to each
other, but had to lie perfectly still. Their eyes, meanwhile, wandered
round the room. Gazing at the rag mats on the floor, they recognized
their mother’s and their aunt’s old dresses, which had been cut up for
carpets. They looked at the portrait of General Malmberg, which hung on
the wall between two battle canvasses, at the ink-well and pen, at the
antlers and game-bags, at the foil and the famous gun called the
“harekiller.” They traced the figures in the quilt, they counted the
stars on the wall-paper, the nail-heads along the floor, and the checks
in the curtains. The hour seemed dreadfully long! They heard the merry
voices of the other children, who were so big they did not have to take
a midday nap, but ran about--happy and free--devouring cherries and
gooseberries and green apples!
The sole hope of the two little girls was the “office fly.” She buzzed
and buzzed round the Lieutenant’s face, making as much noise as she
could. If only she kept at it long enough she’d wake him up!
II
MAMSELLE BRORSTRÖM
THE undergraduates at the _Gymnasium_ of Karlstad had been unusually
quiet in the beginning of the autumn semester. They had not started any
fights with the street boys, or been up to any other deviltry. The
whole city was surprised, pleased, and thankful, though no doubt people
felt at the same time that something was lacking.
Then, as it drew on toward autumn Fair-time, when folk from all parts
of Värmland were coming to the capital of the province, the students
felt they must do something to maintain their reputation. Now it was
not merely a question of Karlstad, but of all Värmland. After due
deliberation, when various propositions had been presented and
rejected, a schoolboy named Fredrik Sandberg was summoned to appear
before the collegians.
Fredrik Sandberg obeyed orders, of course, for in those days it never
would have done for the schoolboys to defy the collegians, who were
their overlords. Nor would it have been well for the one who attempted
to evade a summons from that quarter!
When Fredrik came the students togged him out in frilled shirt and
stock, satin waistcoat of large flowered pattern, gray trousers with
foot-straps, blue swallow-tail coat with silver buttons, and patent
leather shoes. His hair was then curled and arranged in a forelock,
gloves and walking stick were put into his hands, and a tall stove-pipe
hat with curved brim topped it all.
If only Fredrik Sandberg had not been so small that the trousers hung
in pleats, the coat tails almost trailed on the ground, and the hat
went down on his ears, he would have been as fine a dandy as ever trod
a city street. Thus arrayed, he was ordered off to Mamselle
Brorström’s.
When Fredrik Sandberg entered the attic room where Mamselle Brorström
lived, he found her standing before her tile-stove making waffles. Her
attire was a bit so-so--just a petticoat and undervest. The little
schoolboy thought to himself that never had he seen such arms and legs,
such hands and feet, and such a torso!
“My name is Fredrik Sandberg,” he said by way of introduction, “and I
would most humbly beg that I may be permitted to invite Mamselle
Brorström to the Fair Ball at the Masonic Lodge.”