But why, she rejoined, could he not when he would make so many people
happy?
Oh, did his sister then wish him to lie?
Why should he not under the circumstances?
He would despise himself and not wish to live any longer.
Yes, but if he made his father and mother and brother and sister happy?
Did not Christian want them to be happy?
Yes he did, but lying was another matter.
All men did that a little, and Christian should not make himself better
than others.
All men liars! Christian had never believed that, and he himself had
never lied.
That was because he had never needed to lie.
Why, that was dreadful! How could men live together if they did not
speak the truth?
His sister said she could not explain that, but now she would go her
way, and never wished to see again a brother who made her so unhappy.
Christian felt quite nervous by having so much attention concentrated
on his person; he was not accustomed to people busying themselves about
him, and this close dealing with his soul had disturbed his wonted
equanimity. These people begged and implored him to do them a service;
he could make them happy or miserable with a word--he was therefore a
person of importance. This made him self-conscious, and he was seized
with a desire to see the result of his intervention on their behalf.
It was merely a matter of saying "yes" instead of "no," and after all
what did it signify when all men were accustomed to change little words
in case of need. Perhaps he would have fared better if he had done so
before. His resolve was taken.
His father then entered and asked him if it was possible for a boy to
collect such a stock of things?
Yes it was, if one did nothing else and was diligent.
His father could not believe it; he had never seen it and therefore
found it incredible.
Christian repeated his affirmation. His father asked him to confess
that he had stolen. Christian said "yes." His father, with the knife
in his hand, asked whether he would confess to the bailiff. Christian
promised solemnly to do so. His father cut the rope and they went
together to the cottage. There sat the bailiff eating his porridge
peacefully.
"Has he confessed?" he asked, letting his spoon rest.
"He has," said the father, to the great joy of those of the family who
were present.
But the bailiff seemed to have made some miscalculation, for he was not
glad.
"Well," he resumed, turning to Christian, "how did you manage it? I
should like to know."
Christian, who would also have been pleased to hear how a single man
sets about plundering a trader's boat, stood at first speechless,
but as he began to think how he would act under the specified
circumstances, his imagination came to his help. He went to the stand
near the door, where the axes were kept, and took the largest gimlet
he could see. Then he took down his father's great sheep-skin, threw it
on the bed, and after he had taken his stand in the middle of the room,
began thus. "There lies the boat at anchor" (be pointed to the bed)
"and there lies the skipper asleep" (he indicated the sheep-skin).
"Wait! Let me think!" interrupted the bailiff, whose brain worked
slowly.
But Christian continued. "Here I stand on the shore, watching the boat.
Then I consider. There lies a boat and here am I. Probably there is
something at the bottom of the boat."
Christian, who was not accustomed to lie, came to a stop, for his
awakening conscience urged him to flight and freedom. Fortunately the
bailiff utilised this pause to get his ideas into order.
"Let me see," he said. "There lies the skipper, and there lies the
gimlet. What had you to do with the gimlet?"
Christian knew well, but that was, for the present, his secret. "I
throw myself into the sea, my legs are entangled in the weeds, I wrench
myself loose, swim to the anchor-rope, take the gimlet and sink the
boat."
"That is too fast, too fast! Wait! Where were we?" said the bailiff.
"We sank the boat."
He dipped the wooden spoon into the jug of milk, and continued.
"Well, and the cargo sank too?"
"Yes."
"That is remarkable. How did you get hold of it then?"
"I raised it," said Christian.
"He raised it. Quite right. Now I begin to see," said the bailiff,
turning to Christian's father. "But," he resumed, after rubbing his
nose with the spoon handle, "I do not understand why he sank the boat
when he took the cargo."
"The skipper! The skipper!" broke in Christian's father, who was quite
absorbed in the adventure.
"The skipper! Yes, that is quite right! He is a sharp youngster! It is
a serious case, but finely managed."
Christian had had time to make his plan. He drew back to the door and
asked, "Can I go now?"
The bailiff asked himself, "Can he go now?" Then he said, "Wait a
moment! Did you not take up the skipper too?"
"No, I did not," said Christian, "but if the bailiff wishes it I will."
Then he disappeared through the door, with the sheep-skin on his
shoulder and the gimlet in his hand, indicating his intention to
save the skipper, and leaving those present to their reflections and
discussions.
When Christian went out he went straight to the shore, reflecting how
quickly he had become a liar and how comfortably lying helped one
through the difficulties of life. Then he bored holes in all the boats
except the largest fishing-boat, on which he hoisted sail and steered
towards Trollhättor. There he put his stores on board till the sun
rose, then hoisted sail again and held on in the sun's track.
* * * * *
Two years had passed. The old fisherman and his wife were dead. Their
son Hans had taken over the farm and married a poor girl. Nothing had
been heard of Christian, and at the division of the property he had
been declared disinherited because he had left the country on account
of a crime and nothing more had been heard of him. Hans' cottage stood
on the shore of the fjord, just where it narrowed to a sound through
which boats had to pass to reach the large fishing skerries. Exactly
opposite the sound lay a little island about one acre in extent. It
consisted mostly of hillocks, but in a hollow between them some earth
had collected, covered with very good grass, and a score of birches
had sprung up. Through his cottage windows Hans could see the island
which was part of a neighbour's property.
One day during the spring thaw he sat and watched how the crows sailed
on the pieces of ice in the sound; snow lay in patches on the banks,
but there were glimpses of green in the clefts of the rocks. By chance
he glanced over to the other shore and there perceived some movements
going on which aroused his curiosity. Some workmen were bringing stones
and timber already hewn and cut as if for building a cottage, but he
could see no vessel which had conveyed the materials or the workmen. He
could not rest till he had sent a servant over to his neighbour to ask
what was going on. The messenger returned with the news that a stranger
from Esthland had bought the island and was intending to build on it.
This was all that Hans could discover at present. But not long after
he discovered that the new-comer was his own brother, Christian, who
had returned, accompanied by his wife whom he had married abroad. On
mature consideration the risks for his freedom had not seemed great to
him since no witnesses to hid adventurous plundering could be produced,
and as regards the disappearance of the fishing-boat and the boring of
holes in the others, there would only be a fine to pay, if his brother
lodged a complaint against him.
Meanwhile the house grew higher and became such a stately building,
with its outhouses, as to attract the attention of all who passed by,
and to arouse the envy of Hans. One day he said to his wife, "I begin
to think that this old house must be rebuilt."
"It is not long since that was done," she answered.
But Hans was wilful and had his own way. He was obliged to hire workmen
who ate up his seed-corn and finished his winter stock of herrings.
"Pride comes before a fall," said people.
During the winter Hans sat in his large house and was half starved. In
spring he had to sell a cow in order to buy seed.
Christian, on the other hand, lived comfortably in his roomy dwelling,
though he possessed neither land, meadows, woods, fishing-grounds,
cattle, nor yacht. Hans and he never met.
One evening the pastor, on his way from visiting a sick person, called
in at Hans' house, and sat by the fire to warm himself. "I cannot
understand how he has his train-oil factory far away in Esthland, and
can sit here at home and manage it," said the pastor.
"Who?" asked Hans.
"He over there; Christian, your brother."
"Train-oil factory? He told my neighbour he was a rope-maker."
"Rope-maker? That is strange! Then one of us has heard wrong."
While they were discussing the matter, there was a knock at the door
and the bailiff entered. He had been engaged in his business out of
doors.
"It is quite incomprehensible," he said, "how one can sit here among
the skerries and manage mines far away in Russia."
General commotion! Christian was a scoundrel! The pastor must go over
and speak with him and the bailiff must find out how he supported
himself.
The next day the pastor and the bailiff paid Christian a visit. They
were received on the bridge and conducted into the house, which was
handsomely furnished like that of a rich man, so that all questions
as to Christian's means of subsistence were prevented. The floor was
covered with smooth hewn planks, the fire-place was made of stone,
and the walls were covered with hangings. Christian's wife was lively
and pretty; her hair was black and hung over her eyes. She went round
and poured Greek wine into their glasses while Christian related the
moat extraordinary adventures of his travels which the pastor and the
bailiff, under the influence of wine, found quite credible. This went
on till late at night, and the pastor was carried down to the boat on
a pair of oars, bestowing his blessing on tools and buildings and not
least on Christian who had presented the church with a goblet of gilt
silver. The bailiff, who had received a hunting-dog as a gift from
Christian, was guided by it down to the boat where, placing his fingers
on a tub of herrings, he took an oath that Christian was the most
honourable man in the skerries.
Some time afterwards Christian came home, after an excursion among the
skerries, in a great sailing boat rigged with two lateen sails which
could hold straight against the wind and needed not to be taken down
when he turned.
Hans now had no more peace. He must have lateen sails. His wife had
been weaving linen during the whole winter for new shirts; Hans soon
convinced her that the sails were more important. But he was also
convinced, after bearing of the great reception which his brother had
given to his guests, that a house-holder could not offer beer to his
guests when a small-tenant offered wine. Still, wine was very dear,
and he had a sharp struggle with himself as well as with his wife. He
said they could economise with milk, to which he attached no special
importance, and that he was quite willing to give up his own share of
it. The second cow was sold.
Meanwhile wonderful reports began to go about and were repeated.
Trollhättor was said to be haunted, and no one ventured to go there.
Flames had been seen dancing over the sea. About that time there was a
shipwreck, accompanied by the unusual circumstance that not one of the
crew was saved. It seemed still more peculiar that Christian, shortly
before the ship was driven on shore, had rented an inferior fishing
ground among the outermost skerries, which had shallow banks and where
no one wished to fish. He had been seen there carrying fishing-forks
and lighting fires, but no one could understand why he went so far out
with fishing-forks.
The reports increased and became threatening. But the pastor and the
bailiff, who were regular guests at Christian's, took him vigorously
under their protection, refuted the scandal, and thus the whole affair
was forgotten.
When the spring came Hans had no seed-corn. He took no trouble about
his patches of ground but let anything grow on them. He killed his own
oxen for a baptism-feast which he held in March. No resource was now
left to him but fishing. It was an insecure means of earning a living,
almost like gambling. When he got nothing, he went hungry; when he had
a good haul, he made a feast. His brother-in-law, who had a claim on
his farm on account of his wife, caused him uneasiness also.
When the week of prayer before Easter arrived and the pastor came with
the Holy Cross and the boys sang the litany round the fields in order
to bless the seed sown, Hans was ashamed to acknowledge that his field
had no seed sown in it. Then when only thistles appeared on it, people
said he had betrayed the Cross of Christ.
The next year Hans had another son. Then he burnt up his last wood and
sowed turnips in the ashes. But Christian sat on the shore exactly
opposite, and saw how the beautiful island was changed to a bare
skerry. He felt neither grief nor joy, but only found it instructive to
watch the development of the affair.
In autumn Hans' turnip-crop failed, for the wood which had been a
protection from the north wind was gone. One day, when their need was
great and Hans had gone out fishing, his wife took a punt and rowed
over the sound. Christian received her in a friendly way and bade her
come into the guest-house where private conversations were generally
held. She told him her great need and asked for help. Christian made
no objection but gave help generously, including a cow, seed-corn, and
so on. Hans' wife was moved, and confessed that her husband had not
behaved well. Christian said he knew nothing about that and did not mix
in other people's affairs. So they parted.
When she had gone, Christian said to his wife, "Olga, I have nothing
more to do here. I have seen the punishment come without lifting my
hand against my own flesh and blood. Hans is a beggar; in winter he
will become a thief, since he must steal wood, after having burnt his
trees. His children will become servants, if nothing worse. And that
is right! They taught me to lie, and the representative of the law
made me a thief. I was honest, but they would not let me be so. Now I
could be so if I wished, for they have told me I can be an honorary
magistrate, if I like to buy ground. But I will possess nothing of this
earth for which men fight; I will not be respected by this society,
who suspect that I am a scoundrel, and yet pardon me because I have a
stone fire-place and drink wine. All my toils put together could not
make me rich, you know, for one cannot become so by collecting skins
and down. If I had lived three hundred years ago I would have been a
pirate and my name would have been celebrated and cursed in the world.
Then I would have staked my life and won my bread in honourable battle;
now I am a wreck-plunderer and a corpse-robber, who enjoy the respect
of everyone except my own--and thine, Olga. Let us leave this country
which had no place for us when we were honest, but opened its doors
when we were dishonest. Let us go where the earth has yet no owner,
where the freeborn man can pasture his flocks, where the sky itself
waters the grass, and the sun entices it to grow. Your eyes, Olga, ask
me whether I shall not miss the old home where my childhood passed? I
had no childhood; no one bade me welcome when I came, and no one says
farewell when I go. When I saw you, Olga, my childhood began, and where
you are, there is my home."
* * * * *
In the evening the Trollhättor was again haunted, and an incendiary set
fire to Christian's house. By the light of the fire his largest boat
was seen sailing out in an easterly direction. Christian sat at the
helm, but his young wife sat in front by the main-sheet, keeping the
look-out.