of helmets and shining armour is seen among the trees. Jan Asker and
Sexton Melanoz must have come upon three of the Immortal Ases, Odin,
Thor, and Freja, who were bound for Mårbacka but had somehow lost their
way. Jan and the Sexton have guided them safely hither, so that the
shining gods may speak for themselves.
No, they do not speak. The three gods break into song; they chant to
the old familiar melody “Come lovely May,” a pæan to all that has been
wrought here at Mårbacka in the time of Lieutenant Lagerlöf--every word
of which is true. Tears glisten in many an eye, and the Lieutenant
himself is deeply moved by his old friend’s lyric.
“Melanoz is superb to-day!” he says. “After all, Hedda, I believe the
natives will carry off the palm.”
With this, the fête has been impressively and happily opened. The
guests now scatter about the grounds. Some visit the berry bushes and
cherry trees, and others want to see whether the fine Mårbacka peaches
are ripening.
In a little while comes another fanfare. The gentlemen now escort the
ladies back to the house and up the perilous attic stairs. The loft has
been converted into a theatre, its small stage screened off with white
draperies. The theatre is the work of Fru Lagerlöf, and is the cutest
little place imaginable.
A moment’s suspense, and the curtain goes up on a musical allegory
written in the forenoon of that very day by Oriel Afzelius. It is
entitled, “The Monk and the Dancer.” The action takes place on the day
of Lieutenant Lagerlöf’s birth, August 17, 1819. Beside the cradle of
the new-born babe, instead of the usual fairies, stand two symbolical
figures, a monk and a dancer.
The _Dancer_ would have the boy grow up a merry, dashing cavalier. The
_Monk_, on the contrary, would make of him a serious ascetic. After a
spirited controversy, they finally come to an agreement. Each shall
direct one half of the little Mårbacka child’s span of life. So for a
time he is destined to lead the jolly life of a young officer; in his
later years he is to settle down quietly, and practise abstinence and
good deeds, with Mårbacka as cloister. Oriel Afzelius as the Monk and
Kristofer Wallroth in draperies and veils as the Dancer, sing solos
and duets from the popular operas. They gesticulate and declaim
with emotional fervour, and wind up their quarrel with a lively
_pas-de-deux._
As the curtain falls there is wild applause. People shout, stamp their
feet, and wave their handkerchiefs. Fru Lagerlöf sits in fear and
trembling lest the floor give way under the storm. The Lieutenant cries
out:
“Yi, yi, Melanoz! It’s none of the outlanders winning now!”
The young folk at Mårbacka have rehearsed a little play, but the
players feel rather disheartened as they are about to appear; they have
nothing to offer comparable to Uncle Oriel’s allegory.
Anna Lagerlöf is now fourteen, and this is her first appearance in a
regular part. The piece is called “A Cigar,” and she is cast for the
rôle of the young wife.
Indeed, the performance is far from a failure, thanks to the acting of
little Anna Lagerlöf! “How does that child come by her histrionic
talent?” people wonder. She acts with such ease, naturalness, and
charm, the spectators cannot get over their surprise. “That little girl
is going to be a heart-breaker,” some are heard to say. “Why, the lass
is really pretty!” comes from another quarter. “And how well she acts,
too!”
It seemed as if the plaudits and curtain calls would never end.
“Do you see, Lieutenant,” shouts Sexton Melanoz above the tumult, “that
the natives can hold their own?”
But at last they clamber down the break-neck attic stairs. Then they
dance again, and chatter, and drink toddies, and some of them take to
story-telling, for which up to then there has been no time.
After supper, at midnight, the Chinese lanterns are lit. This is done
every year now, and must never be omitted. For a change, they have the
illumination on the front lawn.
Ah! how lovely it looks--as Mamselle Lovisa’s flower beds stand out in
the vari-coloured light; as the weeping ash, like a huge lamp, sends
forth its rays through the lacy branches; as the dark copses gleam as
if with fire-flowers!
Now all have come out to see the illuminations. They find themselves in
a fairyland. The sweet harmonies of the quartette intensify the spell
of enchantment.
Then comes a wonderful thing! It is like the soft caress of a balmy
wind. No, one cannot say what it is. But they who have been together
these ten hours, chatting, dancing, playing, listening to music and
speeches, are now prepared for it. As they drink in the song and the
beauty of the night, they are filled with a blissful rapture. Ah, life
is so beautiful! How precious the moments! Every breath is a joy!
Now out of the throng steps Fru Hedda. In a moment she appears on the
veranda, and starts the Värmland Anthem. All join in the singing, for
in this way they are able to express what they feel: _Ack, Värmeland,
du sköna, du härliga land!_ They seem to hear voices back in the
thickets and copses, and surmise that the Mårbacka elves and fairies
are dancing a contra-dance under the maple trees to the lovely melody.
Hands press hands; eyes meet eyes through a mist of tears. And no one
is surprised, for it is such an unspeakable happiness just to be!
At the close of the song, as Fru Hedda withdraws, Herr Noreen steps
forward: he, too, would interpret the spirit of the hour.
“It is _this_ that is the seventeenth of August,” he says; “not the
singing nor the play-acting, not the dancing nor the feasting, but that
which we now feel--the sweet solemn joy which has stolen into our
hearts, the love which permeates this blessed night. It was for this we
longed when we came; it is for this we shall come again next year.
“Why is it, dear Brother Eric Gustaf, that we must come here to you in
order to feel reconciled to our fate, proud of our country, happy with
ourselves and with those about us? You are no big important man. You
have done no great outstanding thing. But you have within you the best
of good-will and an open heart. We know that, were it in your power,
you would take the whole world in your embrace. This is why you can
give us each year a few hours of bliss, a little glimpse of Paradise,
which we of East Ämtervik call the Seventeenth of August.”
POSTSCRIPT
POSTSCRIPT
IT WAS the Seventeenth of August, year 1919.
I had had a wreath bound, the prettiest that could be made up at
Mårbacka, and with this before me in the victoria, I drove to the
church. I was in holiday attire, the victoria shone with a new coat of
varnish, and the horses were in their best harness.
It was a perfect day. The earth lay bathed in sunshine, the air was
mild, and across the pale blue sky floated a few white wisps of cloud.
Not the slightest breeze blew from any direction. It was a Sunday, and
I saw little children in holiday dress playing in the yards, and grown
folk in their Sunday best setting off for church. No cows or sheep or
chickens were seen in the road, as on weekdays, when the victoria
passed through the village of Ås.
The crop that year was so abundant, it seemed as if the good old times
were back with us again. The haylofts along the way were so full,
shutters and doors could not be closed; the rye fields were decked with
close rows of shooks; the apple trees in the front yards hung heavy
with reddening fruit, and the fallow fields, newly sown, showed a
tender crop just turning green.
I sat thinking that here was something Lieutenant Lagerlöf--whose
centenary it was that day--would have liked to see. Here was
prosperity. It was not as in 1918 and 1917 and 1915 and 1914 and
1911--those dreadful years of drouth! How he would have rejoiced at
this! He would have nodded to himself, and averred that nowhere in all
Värmland could they raise such crops as in his parish.
During the whole long drive to the church, my father was in my
thoughts. On this very road he had driven many and many a time. I
pictured with what keen interest he would have noted all the changes.
Every house which had been repainted, every new window, every roof
where tiling had replaced the old shingles, he would have pointed out
and commented upon. The cottage Där Fram at Ås, which had remained
unaltered, would have delighted him; but he would have been sorry to
find Jan Larsson’s old house--the finest in the parish in his
time--torn down.
Certainly he had never been opposed to changes and improvements, though
there were some time-honoured things he had wished to leave
undisturbed. Were he here now, he would think us a shiftless lot to
have in this day and age the old crooked, sagging fences that were here
in his time. He would be shocked to find the road ditches still choked
with weeds, the bridges weak and full of holes, and the dung-yards
still lying at the edge of the road.
When I came to the crossing where the village road runs into the
great highway, how I wished I might have pointed out to him the fine
health resort among the hills, and told him that Ås Springs were now
visited every year by hundreds of people. It would have gladdened
him to know that his idea--that this would some day be a popular
watering-place--had not been so far afield. I could have wished he were
beside me in the carriage as I drove across the Ämtan Bridge! It would
have been a joy to show him that the river had at last been dredged,
and now ran in a straight course, no longer overflowing its banks.
As I drove by the Ostenby school, I seemed to see him standing on the
playground scattering handfuls of pennies--happy and content as always,
when he had a crowd of children about him. I had heard him say, time
and time again, that popular education was a calamity, and would bring
us to ruin. But all the same, on every examination day, he would drive
down to the school to sit for hours while his good friend Melanoz
quizzed the children in catechism and history, and let them show how
clever they were at arithmetic and composition. I doubt whether there
was any one more pleased than he when the youngsters gave correct
answers and got good marks and prizes. I had often wondered at this;
but now I understand that where children were concerned, all prejudice
was thrown to the winds.
I remembered how it had been in the old days when we drove into the
church grove. We were hailed with cheery salutations as folk sprang
aside to let our carriage pass, and father sat smiling and raising his
hand to the brim of his hat. But when I drove in on the same ground,
the place looked so empty and deserted.
I was alone in the carriage, and among all who had come to the church
only I remembered that this was my father’s birthday. I stepped out and
went over to the churchyard to place the wreath. My sad heart wept over
my loved ones who lay sleeping there. Father and Mother, Grandmother,
Aunt Lovisa, and the old housekeeper--I had seen them all laid away.
I longed for them, I wished they might come back and dwell in that
Mårbacka which their labours had built up.
But still, silent, inaccessible, they slept on. They seemed not to hear
me. Yet, perhaps they did. Perhaps these recollections, which have
hovered round me the last few years, were sent forth by them. I do not
know, but I love to think so.
THE END
Transcriber’s Note
This transcription is based on scans made available by the University
of Michigan and Google:
https://books.google.com/books?id=pEUVAAAAMAAJ
To standardize a few inconsistencies in place names, the text of the
1922 Swedish edition was consulted. This text is available through the
Hathi Digital Library at:
https://hdl.handle.net/2027/umn.31951p00687609k
The following changes were made to the printed text:
• Table of contents: II. The Money Chest--Added a hyphen between
“Money” and “Chest” for consistency.
• p. 20: “Hush up, Selma! You must’t talk when you’re facing such
danger!--Changed “must’t” to “mustn’t”.
• p. 56: The Sunne priest used also to officiate at Åmtervik--Changed
“Åmtervik” to “Ämtervik” to be consistent with the Swedish text.
• p. 90: Eligible young gentlemen from Sunne--from Ämbervik--now came
a-courting.--Changed “Ämbervik” to “Ämtervik” to be consistent with the
Swedish text.
• p. 112: THE MONEY CHEST--Added a hyphen between “MONEY” and “CHEST”
in the chapter title for consistency with the text.
• p. 114: You’d better go in and ask for house-room.--Added a closing
double quotation mark at the end of the sentence.
• p. 130: so that Lars would not dare come with any of his monkey
tricks.”--Deleted the closing double quotation mark. The speaker’s
dialogue continues in the next paragraph.
• p.145: they could hardly be used for a bridal crown.--Added a hyphen
between “bridal” and “crown” for consistency.
• p. 264: so many gifted persons all living in a little place like East
Åmtervik--Changed “Åmtervik” to “Ämtervik” to be consistent with the
Swedish text.
• p. 269: The Lieutenant had once presented to the Ottenby
school--Changed “Ottenby” to “Ostenby” to be consistent with how the
Swedish “Östanby” is rendered elsewhere.
• p. 285: Deleted the subheading “I” under the “POSTSCRIPT” heading.
There is no other subheading in the postscript.
Except where noted otherwise, inconsistencies of spelling and
hyphenation have been preserved.