XII.

CHRISTIAN did not expect to find the major at the new chateau. He

knew that the young officer, after the evening’s entertainment at the

chateau, went every night, or rather every morning, to his bostoelle,

which was only a little way off. He had not thought to ask him in what

direction his country-house was, and he made no effort, therefore, to

find it. It was merely his intention to watch the preparations for the

hunt at a distance, and to mix among the peasants who were engaged in

the general battue.

He was still following the path along the shore of the lake, when, by

the glimmering light of the dawn which was just beginning to appear, he

saw a man coming to meet him. He lowered his mask at once, but raised

it almost immediately, on recognizing Lieutenant Osburn.

“Upon my word,” said the latter, as they shook hands, “I am delighted

to find you here; I was going in search of you, and we shall gain half

an hour’s time by this meeting. Come, make haste! the major is close at

hand waiting for us.”

They proceeded in the direction from which Erwin Osburn had just come;

he took the lead, and very soon turned into a path leading up the left

side of the mountain. When Christian, who followed, had ascended this

path, which was quite steep, for a few minutes, he saw two sleighs

standing motionless in a narrow ravine beneath him. The major, who

was in one of them, saw him at the same time, and ran forward with a

pleased expression.

“Bravo!” he cried; “you are punctual by inspiration! How the devil did

you know that we were here?”

“I had no idea of such a thing,” replied Christian; “I was going to the

new chateau merely by chance.”

“Then chance is for us the first thing in the morning; and that is a

sign that we shall be fortunate in the hunt. Really, you are capitally

disguised, just as you were yesterday evening; but you have neither the

proper shoes nor weapons for the present occasion. Luckily I foresaw

that it would be so, and we have brought all that you will want. In the

meanwhile, take this cloak as a protection against the cold, and let us

start instantly. We are going quite a distance, and the day will not be

too long for all we have to do.”

Christian stepped, with Larrson, into one of the small country sleighs,

very light, with seats for two, and drawn by a little mountain

horse. The lieutenant and Corporal Duff, a kind-hearted old man, a

non-commissioned officer, and a great expert in hunting, got into the

second sleigh, which was exactly like it. The major took the lead, and

they started at a rapid canter.

“You must know,” the major said to Christian, “that we are making all

this haste so as to have a private hunt of our own. The baron has

plenty of game, and plenty of skilful marksmen upon his domain, and

he himself is a very accomplished and very courageous hunter. But as

he will be obliged to conduct or send a great many of his guests to

the battue to-day, who are more remarkable for their boasting than

their skill, it is much to be feared that they will make a great deal

of noise, and do very little execution. Besides, the battue with

peasants has no great interest, as you can see for yourself, when we

return down that mountain that you see before you, after having made

our expedition. It is really a sort of cowardly assassination. They

surround the poor bear, who is not always willing to leave his den;

they terrify him, they harrass him, and when he comes out at last to

fight or fly, they shoot at him without the least danger, from behind

strong nets, where they are protected from his desperate attacks. Of

course there can be nothing exciting, nothing unexpected or startling

in a hunt conducted in this way; and besides, it often happens that

the impatient and awkward members of the party make the whole thing

fail, and that the beast has packed off before they can come up to it.

We shall go to work in a very different way, without trackers, without

noise, and without dogs. I will tell you what is to be done, when the

right time comes. And you may rest assured that a real hunt is like all

true pleasures; it does not admit of a crowd. It is a noble diversion,

which you can only enjoy with your friends, or persons of exceptional

merit.”

“I must thank you doubly, then,” replied Christian, “for wishing me to

share with you this confidential pleasure; but pray explain to me how

it is that you are at liberty to kill the baron’s game before him. I

should have thought he would be more jealous of his prerogatives as a

hunter, and of his rights as a proprietor.”

“For that very reason it is not his game that we are going to try

and kill. His estates are considerable, but the whole country does

not belong to him, God be praised! Do you see those fine mountains

directly in front of you? that is the Norwegian frontier, and on the

outskirts of those gigantic ramparts we shall find a group called

_Blaakdal_. There, in the midst of those sublime wildernesses, and

sometimes enveloped by clouds, for the summits of the mountains are not

often so clear as they are to-day, live a few free peasants, who are

landowners. From one of these _dannemans_ (that is what they are

called) my friends and myself have purchased a bear, whose retreat he

has just discovered. This _danneman_, whose familiarity with all

such matters makes him a very interesting man, lives in a magnificent

site, which is almost inaccessible to a carriage, but, with the help

of God and these good little mountain-horses, we shall get there. We

will breakfast at his house, after which he himself will be our guide

to his lordship the bear, who--since he has not been tracked beforehand

by babblers and reckless fools--will await us without mistrust,

and receive us--according to his mood at the moment. But look,

Christian, see what a beautiful spectacle! Have you already beheld this

phenomenon?”

“No, not yet,” cried Christian, transported with joy; “and I am very

glad to see it in your company. I have heard of it, and that is all; it

is a magnificent parhelion!”

In fact, five suns were rising above the horizon. The true, the

powerful star of day was accompanied to the right and left, and

on either side of its radiant disk, by four luminous images, not

so brilliant, and not so round as the real sun, but surrounded by

rainbow-hued halos of marvellous beauty. As our hunters were riding

towards the west, they stopped for several moments to enjoy this

optical effect, which is produced by very much the same causes as the

rainbow, although it is scarcely ever seen in Europe, except in the

extreme north.

At first they drove along a broad highway, but this soon dwindled into

a narrow, uneven lane, leading through private estates; the lane turned

into a path, and then followed the open country, uncultivated and

rugged, with only a few scarcely perceptible tracks cut into the snow

along the hill-sides. After this, Larrson, who understood perfectly

both the country and the capabilities of the sleigh he was driving,

dashed forward into a really terrific region, over the bare sides of

the mountain; on he went, careering along the very edge of precipices,

slipping at full speed into the bottom of almost perpendicular ravines,

jumping ditches at a flying leap, shooting over fallen trees and

tottering rocks, without even condescending to avoid these fearful

obstacles, which seemed every moment as if they would shiver the

fragile sleigh into fragments. Christian did not know whether to

admire most the audacity of the major or the skill and courage of

the thin little horse, whose marvellous instinct was like a sort of

second sight, and which the driver accordingly allowed to go its own

way. Twice, however, the sleigh was upset. It was not the fault of the

horse, but of the vehicle, which could not accommodate itself quickly

enough to his movements, in spite of its ingenious construction.

These overturns are sometimes serious; but they are so frequent that

very few of them, in comparison with the number that occur, amount

to anything. The lieutenant’s sleigh, although he was warned by the

accidents befalling the party in advance, as they cut their way through

the ice, was also upset two or three times. The young men rolled in

the snow, shook themselves, replaced the sleigh upon its runners, and

started again, without thinking anything more of the adventure than if

they had got out to lighten the load of the horse a little. In other

countries, an upset makes people laugh or tremble; here, it is accepted

quietly, as one of the things that are anticipated and inevitable.

Christian experienced a feeling of unspeakable content, of inward

peace, during this exciting race.

“I cannot express to you,” he said to the good major, who was really

like a brother in his kindness and devotion, “how happy I am to-day!”

“God be praised! dear Christian, for last night you were melancholy.”

“It was the darkness that made me so: the lake, whose beautiful

covering of snow had been soiled by the race, and which looked like a

mass of lead under our feet. It was the hogar, lighted by torches as

gloomy as funereal torches gleaming over a tomb. It was that barbarous

statue of Odin, which, with its threatening hammer and its formless

arm, seemed to be hurling down some mysterious malediction upon the new

world--no longer subject to his power--and upon our profane band! The

whole scene was beautiful, but yet terrible; my imagination is vivid,

and then--”

“And then, confess,” said the major; “something was troubling you.”

“Perhaps so; a dream, a foolish fancy which the return of the sun has

dissipated. Yes, major, the sun exerts as beneficent an influence upon

the spirit of man as upon his body. It illumines the soul as well as

the natural world. This strangely beautiful and fantastic sun of the

north is still the same as the glowing sun of Italy, and the mild sun

of France. It does not give so much heat, but I imagine that it gives

even more light than elsewhere, in this country of silver and crystal!

All nature is its mirror, even the atmosphere, in these regions of

immaculate ice. Blessed be the sunshine! Don’t you agree with me,

major? And blessed be you, also, for bringing me with you on this

revivifying drive, which inspires and strengthens me. Yes, yes, this is

the life that suits me!--movement, air, warmth, cold, light! The world

before you, a horse, a sleigh, a ship--pshaw! still less, legs, wings,

liberty!”

“You are a strange being, Christian! For my part, I should prefer, to

all that, a woman whom I loved.”

“Well,” said Christian, “and I too, perhaps! I am not strange at all;

but you must be able to support your family, or else remain a bachelor.

What would you have me do with nothing? Unable to dream of happiness, I

have at least the consolation of knowing how to forget my deprivations,

and of feeling a sincere enthusiasm for the austere joys that are

within my reach. Do not talk to me about a family, and the corner of

a fireside. Let me dream of the free wind wafting you towards unknown

shores--I know, dear friend, that man is made to love! I feel it deeply

at this very moment, by the side of a person who has received me like a

brother, and whom I must leave to-morrow, perhaps forever; but, since

it is my destiny to be unable to establish any ties, in any place,

since I have neither country, nor family, nor position in this world,

the whole secret of my courage lies in the faculty I have acquired of

enjoying happiness on the wing, and of forgetting that the morrow will

inevitably sweep it away like a beautiful dream. And besides, I have

reflected a great deal since we drank our punch in the grotto of the

hogar.”

“Poor fellow! you must be in love, for you have not slept.”

“Whether in love or not, I slept the sleep of the innocent; but one

reflects quickly when he has not many hours to lose in life. While

dressing myself, and while coming from Stollborg to join you, I was

deeply impressed by one plain and simple truth. This is that I have

made a mistake in trying to solve the problem of the wandering

artist’s career. I have reasoned like a spoiled child of civilization,

and have been unwilling to resign the enjoyments of the sybarite. But

let me explain myself more clearly--”

Christian, now, without relating the material facts of his life to

the major, gave him a brief sketch of his inclinations, desires,

weaknesses, and the progress of his moral and intellectual life, and

explained to him how it was that he had tried to become an artist, so

that he might continue to devote himself actively to the service of

science.

“Now, my dear Osmund,” he added, “to be an artist, you must be that

and nothing else; you must sacrifice travels, scientific studies,

and liberty to that end. In my case, since I have not been willing

to make these sacrifices, why should I not content myself with being

simply and plainly an artisan without an art, such as any man in good

health may become at any given moment of his life? I want to study the

entrails of the earth; cannot I become a miner, for a month, in some

mine? I want to study the flora of a given locality and zoology; can

I not engage for a season as a pioneer or huntsman in that region?

And the next season, can I not push on further, living in poverty

in the meanwhile, so as to use my arms and legs for advancing my

knowledge, instead of exhausting my mind in pasquinades, for the sake

of obtaining more quickly better food and finer clothes? Have I not

sufficient moral courage to work with my hands, so as to have my mind

at liberty, and, in a modest way, productive? I have thought a great

deal about the life of your great Linnæus, which is a résumé of the

history of almost all the scientific men of our period. Poverty, the

actual want of bread, has done all that it could with most of them, to

check their development, and compel them to leave their works unknown

or incomplete. In their youth they have all been wanderers like myself,

anxious about the morrow, with no other hope than the chance of meeting

intelligent patrons. And even when they have received some benefit--a

bitter thing in itself--how often have they been obliged to interrupt

their pursuits, in order to occupy themselves with petty duties, which

are conferred upon them as a favor, but which consume their precious

time, and prevent, or delay, their discoveries. Very well, why did they

not do what I am proposing, and what I intend to do; take a hammer or a

spade over their shoulders, and go and excavate the rock, or till the

soil? What do I want with books, or pen and ink? Why should I be so

eager to make known my existence to the learned world, before having

something new and really interesting to communicate? I know enough now

to begin to learn, that is, to observe and study Nature for her own

sake. We know well that sublime secrets have been wrested from the

very elements, as it were, by poor illiterate workmen, in whom God had

planted, like a sacred spark, the genius of observation. And do you

suppose, Major Larrson, that a man loving nature passionately as I do,

would lose his zeal and vigilance because obliged to eat black bread

and sleep upon a bed of straw? In observing the structure of the rocks

and the nature of the soil, might he not seize some idea that would

prove useful in developing and improving--stay, these porphyry rocks

which surround us, or these uncultivated fields which we are crossing?

I am sure that there are sources of wealth everywhere, that man will

gradually discover. To be useful to all, that is the glorious ideal of

the artisan, dear Osmund; to be agreeable to the rich, is the puerile

destiny of the artist; and I escape from it with joy.”

“What!” said the major, astonished; “are you serious, Christian,

in wishing to renounce the agreeable arts, in which you excel, the

refinements of life, which, with your brilliant gifts, you could

easily command, the charms of society, where it only depends upon

yourself to reappear on the most advantageous and agreeable footing, by

accepting employment, as a superintendent, we will say, of some court

entertainment? You have only to desire it, and you would quickly secure

powerful friends, who could easily make you the manager of a theatre,

or the director of a museum. If you wish--my family is noble, and has

relations--”

“No, no, major! Thanks! That would have been well enough yesterday

morning; I was still a child then, seeking his road while playing

truant from school; I should, perhaps, have accepted your proposition.

The ball had led me back to the old life, to the old worldly vanities

to which I have already too often yielded. To-day I am a man, who sees

where duty points him. I do not know what ray has penetrated my soul

with this morning sunshine--”

Christian sank into a revery. He asked himself what association of

ideas had led him to form resolutions so simple and energetic; but

it was useless for him to question himself, and attribute this new

inspiration entirely to the influence of a good night’s sleep and a

beautiful morning; one image constantly arose before him, that of

Margaret hiding her face in her hands at the name of Christian Waldo.

That stifled cry, breaking from her woman’s heart, had struck the proud

breast of Christian Goffredi. It had lingered in his ears, it had

filled his soul with a generous shame, with a sudden and inflexible

courage.

“And why, let me ask you,” he replied to the major, who reminded

him how fatiguing and tiresome physical labor is, “why must I have

amusement and repose, and be exempted from any sort of suffering?

Since my birth did not give me a place among the privileged classes,

what have I to depend upon, if I have not courage enough to make an

honorable position for myself? Those who gave me birth? If they were

here before me they might very well reply, that, having made me strong

and healthy, they had no idea of rendering me delicate and lazy, and

that, if fine carpets to walk on and delicacies to eat are really

indispensable to sustain my strength and keep me in good-humor, it

had been quite impossible for them to foresee this strange and absurd

contingency.”

“You are laughing, Christian,” said the major; “for life, without its

superfluities, is not worth the trouble of living. Should not man’s aim

be to build himself a nest with care and foresight, of which the very

birds set him an example?”

“Yes, major, it should be the aim of such men as you, whose future is

linked in with his past. But there is nothing edifying in my past life,

and when I became an _interpreter_, as M. Goefle calls it, do

you know what the real motive was that influenced me? Most assuredly,

though I did not know it myself, it was the fear of what is called

poverty. Now, such a fear in a man who has only himself to care for, is

cowardly. Only think how absurd a lamentation on that score would sound

in the mouth of a man so well formed and healthy as I am! Stay! imagine

one of my marionettes soliloquizing; our friend Stentarello, for

instance, speaking in all artlessness: ‘Alas, miserable me! three times

unfortunate! I can no longer sleep in sheets of the finest linen! Alas!

I can no longer, when I am warm in Italy, take a glass of vanilla ice

cream; or, when I am cold in Sweden, pour first-class rum into my tea!

Alas! I can no longer dance at balls in lavender-colored silk; no more

lace sleeves to set off my white hand. Miserable me! I can no longer

cover my hair with powder scented with violet, and with pomade scented

with tuberose! Oh, stars, behold my deplorable destiny! So pretty, so

charming, so amiable as I am, and yet I can have no more preserves

served in china plates; no more moire ribbons to tie my queue; no more

gold buckles to my shoes! Blind fortune, cursed society! you certainly

owe me as much as that, and to Christian Waldo too, who makes his

marionettes talk and gesticulate so well.’”

Larrson could not help laughing at Christian’s gayety.

“You are a droll fellow,” he said; “at some moments you seem to me

paradoxical, and then again I ask myself whether you are not as

great a sage as Diogenes, breaking his cup so as to drink at the

fountain-head--in the brook itself.”

“Diogenes!” said Christian, “many thanks! That cynic has always seemed

to me a conceited fool. In any event, if he was really a philosopher,

and wished to prove to the men of his time that it is possible to be

happy and free without material comforts, he forgot the fundamental

principle of his doctrine: namely, that no one can be free and happy

without some useful employment; a truth that belongs to every age. To

limit yourself to the bare necessities of life, so as to devote time

and strength to a generous task, cannot be called a sacrifice; it is

conquering your own self-respect, securing the peace of your soul.

But, without this aim, stoicism is mere foolishness; the doctrine that

people should do nothing but amuse themselves, is certainly much more

sensible and agreeable.”

While talking thus, our hunters came in sight of the rustic abode where

they were expected. It fitted in so well with the natural terraces of

the mountain, that, but for the smoke escaping from the chimney, it

would have been difficult to distinguish it at any distance.

“You are about to see a very worthy man,” said the major to Christian,

“a type of Dalecarlian simplicity and pride. There is, however, a very

disagreeable person in his house, but perhaps we shall not see her

to-day.”

“So much the worse!” answered Christian; “I am curious about all the

people, as well as about all the things in this strange country. Who is

this disagreeable person?”

“A sister of the danneman, an old woman, either an idiot or crazy,

who is said to have been beautiful in former years, and about whom

they tell all sorts of queer stories. It is said that she had a child

by Baron Olaus, and that the baroness, his wife (the same whom he

now wears in a ring), out of retrospective jealousy, had the child

carried off and destroyed. This may be the cause of the poor woman’s

unsettled mind. However, I can’t guarantee the truth of the story,

and I feel very little interest in a creature who could allow herself

to be vanquished by the charms of the Snow Man. She is sometimes very

tiresome with her songs and sayings, and then again she is either

invisible or mute. I hope this will be the case to-day. But here we

are. Go in quickly and warm yourself, while the corporal and lieutenant

unpack our provisions.”

The danneman, Joë Bœtsoi, was standing at his threshold. He was a

fine man, of some forty-five years, with hard features, contrasting

strangely with his kindly and straightforward expression. He was

dressed with great neatness, and he came forward rather slowly, with

his hat on his head, an air of simple dignity, and his hand extended.

“Welcome!” he said to the major; “thy friends are mine.” The

Dalecarlian peasant addresses every one, even the king himself, in the

second person.

He turned immediately to the other young men, and shook hands with

Christian, Osburn, and the corporal.

“I was expecting you,” he said, “and yet you must not expect to find

much in my house in the way of food. You know, Major Larrson, that the

country is poor; but all that I have is at the disposition of yourself

and friends.”

“Don’t put yourself out at all, Danneman Bœtsoi,” replied the major;

“if I had come alone, I should have asked for some of your gruel

and bier; but, since I have brought three of my friends with me, I

laid in a stock of provisions beforehand, so as not to cause you any

inconvenience.”

A discussion in Dalecarlian followed, between the officer and the

peasant; Christian did not understand it, but the lieutenant explained

it to him as they opened the baskets.

“We very wisely brought our own provisions,” he said, “so as to have a

decent breakfast in this hut; but the worthy peasant, though excusing

himself for having nothing good to offer us, has really gone to some

expense for our entertainment, and it is easy to see, from his long

face, that he feels wounded by our precaution, which seems to him to

cast a doubt upon his hospitality.”

“In that case,” said Christian, “do not let us mortify this honest man;

let us keep our provisions, and eat what he has prepared for us. His

house seems clean, and here are his daughters, ugly enough, it is true,

but very elegant, and all ready to wait upon the table.”

“Suppose we make a compromise,” replied the lieutenant. “We will have

everything served in common, and invite the family to accept our food,

at the same time that we take theirs. I will go and propose that to the

danneman--always if the major approves.”

The lieutenant never formed any resolution whatever without this

restriction.

The major approved of the proposition, and made it himself to

the danneman, who accepted it, although he still seemed a little

dissatisfied.

“So,” he said, with an uneasy smile, “it will be like a wedding-feast,

where each one brings his own dish.”

At any rate, he accepted; but, in spite of Christian’s hints, they did

not even suggest inviting the women to sit down. This was too much

opposed to established customs; the young officers would have been

afraid of appearing ridiculous in proposing to the danneman such a

great infraction of his dignity as head of the family.

While they were unpacking on the one hand, and talking on the other,

Christian examined the house within and without. It was the same

sort of building that he had already noticed in the _gaard_ at

Stollborg: the body of the house was made of pine logs, well caulked

with moss, and painted, on the outside, of an iron-rust red; the roof

was of birch-bark, overlaid with earth and turf. As there was danger

that the snow, which was very plentiful in this mountainous region,

would break down the roof, it had been carefully swept off, and the

danneman’s goat, a third larger than the same animal in southern

countries, was uttering a plaintive bleating at the sight of the fresh

grass thus disclosed to view.

It was so warm within doors, that the young men threw off their

pelisses and hats, and went about in their shirt-sleeves. Although

substantial and spacious in comparison with a great many habitations

in the locality, this house was, nevertheless, quite small; but its

form was elegant, and the outside porch, over which the edge of the

roof projected, gave it the comfortable and picturesque appearance of

a Swiss chalet. One single room, protected from the cold by a narrow

vestibule, proved sufficient for the whole family, which consisted

of the danneman, who was a widower, his sister, a son fifteen years

old, and two daughters somewhat older. The stove was in the form of a

cylinder, and was built of Dutch bricks, four feet high; the chimney

was attached to it, and the whole stood in the centre of the house. The

bare ground, instead of a carpet, was covered with pine-boughs, that

exhaled an agreeable and healthful odor.

Christian wondered where all the family slept, for he saw only two beds

in recesses in the wall, like berths in a ship. His friends explained

to him that these were the beds of the danneman and his sister. The

children slept on benches, with no other covering than fur cloaks.

“In other respects,” said the major to Christian, who inquired

curiously about all their habits, “though they are faithful to the rude

customs of our mountaineers of pure race, you will find, also, that

they have luxuries of their own, due to the labors of our host and the

plentifulness of game in these savage places. I told you that Danneman

Bœtsoi was a skilful and experienced hunter; but you must know that

he is skilful not only in tracking savage beasts, but also in killing

them without damaging their skins, and in preparing and preserving

their precious remains. We always apply to him when we want a good

and handsome article at a fair price: skins of the sucking doe, for

instance, which, for the summer, make the coolest and most delicious

bed in the world, and which wash like linen; skins of the long-haired

black bear, for lining sleighs; and seal-skin cloaks, impervious to

the rain, to the snow, and, above all, to the interminable autumn

fogs, which are exceedingly penetrating and unhealthy. Still further,

he has rarities and even curiosities in the way of furs to dispose

of, for Joë Bœtsoi has travelled a great deal in still colder regions

than this, and he is in communication with hunters, who send him the

objects of his traffic by wandering Laplanders and Norwegian traders;

northern caravans, in which the camel is replaced by the reindeer,

and whose trade, for the most part, consists merely in an exchange of

commodities, after the manner of the ancients.”

Christian was curious to see these furs. The danneman, thinking he

wanted to purchase some of them, led him and the major to a little

shed, where the skins were hanging up. He begged Larrson to dispose

of one or all of them to the satisfaction of his friend, and would

not consent to be informed of the price of sale agreed upon, before

receiving it.

“You understand the business as well as I do,” he said, “and you are

master in my house.”

Osmund translated these words to Christian, who admired the simple

dignity of the Dalecarlian, and inquired whether he would show equal

confidence in any one who might claim his hospitality.

“He has usually a great deal of faith,” replied the major, “for the

manners here are patriarchal. The Dalecarlian, the Swiss of the north,

has great and heroic virtues, but the country he lives in is poor. Our

mines draw vagabonds from all parts of the country; and criminals,

concealed in this subterranean world, often avoid, for a long time,

the punishments pronounced against them in other provinces. The

peasant, when he is neither a landowner nor employed in the mines, is

so wretchedly poor, that he is sometimes obliged to beg or to steal.

And yet the number of malefactors is infinitely small in comparison to

that of persons without means, whom the privileged classes absolutely

ignore. The rich peasant, therefore, cannot confide in all chance

comers, nor does he feel the slightest faith in the nobility, who

vote regularly in the Diet for their own interests, in opposition to

those of the other classes; but the soldier, above all the members

of the _indelta_, is the friend of the peasant. We are the most

independent power in the State, since the law secures us a sufficient

and honorable support in spite of every opposing influence. It is well

known that we are generally devoted to the king, when he sustains the

people and protects them against the abuses of the nobility. This is

his only course with us, and the peasant, who makes common cause with

him, cannot be deceived. Have patience, Christian; a time will come

when the senate will be obliged to settle accounts with the bourgeois

and peasant! Our king dares not. Our queen, Ulrica, is bold enough,

but would the sister of Frederick the Great pause on the road if she

could once succeed in subduing the pride and ambition of the jarls? I

doubt it. She would think only of extending the royal power, without

admitting that the people also ought to be allowed more freedom. Our

hope, therefore, is in Henry, the prince royal. He is a man of genius

and a man of action! Yes, yes! A time will come--. But pardon me! I am

forgetting that you want to look at furs, and that you can scarcely

feel any interest in the politics of our country; however, you may rest

assured that the prince royal--”

“Yes, yes, the prince royal!” repeated the lieutenant, who had followed

the major and Christian under the shed.

He paused with a thoughtful expression, being, in fact, busy in

learning the memorable words, which his friend had just uttered, by

heart, so that he might form a definite opinion about the situation of

his country. He would have been rather indifferent upon this subject if

he had consulted the apathetic philosophy that was natural to him; but

the major had an opinion, and the lieutenant, therefore, must have one

too, and he could not, of course, differ from his friend. Consequently

he, also, felt unbounded hope and confidence in the genius of the

prince royal. Were both he and Larrson mistaken? Henry (the future

Gustavus III.) had many remarkable and most seductive qualities; he

was learned, eloquent, courageous, and certainly, in the beginning of

his career, sincere, and ambitious of doing good; but he, like Charles

XII., and so many others, was destined to yield to the dominion of his

own passions, which warred against his desire to promote the public

weal. After saving Sweden from an overbearing oligarchy, he did his

best to ruin it by a blind ostentation and the false calculations of

a corrupt policy. Still, he was a great man at a given moment of his

life, when, without shedding a drop of blood, he succeeded in freeing

his people from the tyranny of a caste, irresistibly tempted by its

privileges to destroy the equilibrium of society.

Christian, from all that he had been able to gather as to the

situation of the country, and the presumed character of the future

heir of the throne, shared fully the major’s hopes and illusions;

but, nevertheless, he was still more occupied for the moment, not in

purchasing the lining for a winter garment--he could not afford any

such luxury--but in examining the skins of animals piled up around him

in the danneman’s little store. In regard to several species this was

a lesson for him in natural history; and Larrson, who was a thoroughly

accomplished hunter, informed him in what regions of the north these

species were indigenous.

“Since we shall set out immediately to hunt our bear,” he said, in

conclusion, “you ought to know beforehand what sort of animal we are

to deal with. According to Danneman Bœtsoi it is a mongrel, but it is

yet to be proved that the different varieties of the bear can breed

together. There are three of them in Norway: the _bress-diur_, which

lives upon leaves and herbs, and which is very fond of milk and honey;

the _ildgiersdiur_, which eats meat; and the _myrebiorn_, which

feeds upon ants. As for the white bear of the polar seas, which is a

fourth, and still more powerful family, I need not tell you that

it is not found among us.”

“And yet,” said Christian, “here are two skins of polar bears which

seem to me as precious as any articles in the danneman’s collection.

Has he been as far as the Polar Sea on his hunting expeditions?”

“It is quite possible,” replied the major; “at any rate, he has

business relations, as I told you, with parties in the extreme north.

It is quite a customary thing for him to travel two hundred leagues in

his sleigh, in the middle of winter, to trade and exchange commodities

with hunters, who, upon their side, have come just as far on their

skates, or with their reindeers, to meet him at the appointed place.

He claims now that he is going to show us the mongrel of a white and

black bear, because the creature’s fur seemed to him mixed; but as

he only saw him at night, by the light of the aurora borealis, which

is very deceptive, we can’t be sure about it. The bear is so shy and

distrustful that very little is known about him, even in our country,

where he was found in great numbers a hundred years ago, and where he

is still quite common. It is not really known whether the parti-colored

bear is a mongrel or a distinct species. Some believe that the white

fur is produced by the cold of winter, and that the spotted coat,

therefore, is either the beginning or the termination of an annual

transformation, while others assert that the white bear retains his

color at all seasons; but you, Christian, are probably more familiar

than myself with all these matters. You have read so many works that I

only know by name--”

“It is for that very reason that I am utterly unable to solve your

doubts. Buffon contradicts Wormsius flatly about the bear; and all our

learned historians contradict each other in all their statements, which

does not prevent them from contradicting themselves. It is not really

their fault, for most of the laws of nature are still unsolved enigmas.

When we know so little about animals living upon the surface of the

globe, only think what secrets must be enclosed in the bowels of the

earth itself! That is what made me say, a little while ago, that it is

in the power of any man, no matter how insignificant, to make immense

discoveries. But let us return to our bear, or rather let us make haste

with breakfast, so that we can go and find him. I have only one fault

to find with the Swedes, dear friend, and that is that they have too

many meals, and spend too much time over them. I could understand it

better if your days were twenty hours long; but when I see how small an

arc of the circle the sun has to pass even now, before again sinking

beneath the horizon, I cannot help wondering at what hour you propose

to hunt.”

“Patience, dear Christian,” replied the major, laughing; “a bear-hunt

does not last long. It is a single blow, whether it succeeds or fails;

either you lodge two balls in your enemy’s head, or, with a stroke of

his paw, he disarms and overpowers you. But here is the danneman coming

to announce breakfast. Let us go in.”

The repast brought by the officers was capital; but Christian saw

plainly that the young girls, and the danneman himself, were sadly

mortified at the sight of all this good food, and that after looking

forward with delight to offering them their rustic viands, they

scarcely ventured to place them on the table. Accordingly he made it a

point to eat of these, and to praise them; and, indeed, his politeness

cost him little, for the danneman’s smoked salmon and fresh game

were excellent, the butter made of reindeer’s milk was delicious,

the turnips were tender and sweet, and the sweetmeats--some northern

berry preserved--aromatic and refreshing. Christian did not like so

well the beverage of sour milk, which was handed round in pewter

pitchers; he preferred the light wine made from a different sort of

berry, which grows in the greatest abundance throughout the country,

and which the people cook and preserve in a thousand ways. But most

of all, he admired the Christmas cake that was brought on with the

dessert, and which had been made expressly for the danneman’s guests,

so that they might be able to cut it; for custom required that the cake

reserved for the family should remain untouched until Twelfth Night.

The danneman thrust his knife resolutely into this luxurious edifice,

made of wheaten flour, and tumbled down without mercy the little towers

and clocks which his daughters had so skilfully constructed. These

young persons, tall, large, and with dark complexions, were not at all

pretty, but their figures were good, and they were very coquettishly

dressed, making a great display of ribbons, jewels, and, above all, of

white linen and black braids. It was only after the cake was cut that

they partook of anything. They were invited then to take a piece of

the cake, and to moisten their lips from their father’s goblet, after

he had filled it with strong beer. They remained standing, and, before

drinking, made a deep courtesy to the guests, and wished them the

compliments of the season.

Christian usually became very impatient at table when he had satisfied

his hunger, but he now sank into a profound revery. His companions were

quite noisy, although they had abstained from wine and brandy, in the

fear of being overcome by intoxication when the time came for starting

on the hunt. The danneman, who was at first reserved and rather

haughty, became more demonstrative, and seemed to have conceived a

peculiar sympathy for the stranger; but this man, who understood all

the Northland dialects, and even Finnish and the Russian of Archangel,

could speak Swedish, his native language, only with extreme difficulty.

Christian, with his curiosity and habitual facility, was already trying

to understand Dalecarlian; but even with the help of the narrator’s

pantomime, he could only follow vaguely the interesting accounts of

hunts and travels called for, and eagerly listened to, by the other

guests.

Fatigued by the efforts he was obliged to make in listening, and by

the excessive heat of the room, Christian left the table and moved

away from the stove. He went to the window and gazed at the sublime

scenery surrounding the chalet, which stood on the edge of a deep

granitic gorge, whose black precipitous sides, glittering with

frozen waterfalls, plunged steeply down to the bed of a torrent.

The uncultivated meadows above the abyss had such a rapid slope in

many places, that their shroud of snow had been blown off by sudden

gusts of wind, which had thus left exposed to the sun the green turf

beneath, lightly powdered with frost, and brilliant as a carpet of pale

emeralds. This remnant of tender verdure, victorious over the frost,

was the more striking because of its contrast with the gloomy green,

almost like black, of the gigantic pines, which stood crowded together,

erect as monuments of the abyss, and hung with fringes of ice-diamonds.

Those growing in the crevices where the snow had accumulated, were

buried in it half way up their trunks, and these trunks were sometimes

a hundred and sixty feet high. Their branches, too heavily laden

with ice, hung down; and, stiff as the flying buttresses of Gothic

cathedrals, were welded into the snow beneath. Upon the horizon arose

the sharp peaks of Sevenberg, their rosy crests, the abode of eternal

snows, resting upon a sky of amethyst. It was about eleven o’clock in

the morning, and the sun was already searching with his rays the blue

depths, which, when the party reached their destination, had still been

enveloped in the cold and gloomy shadow of the night. Every instant

Christian saw them gleaming with changing hues, like those of an opal.

Every artist who has been a traveller, has always remarked the beauty

of snow-landscapes in those regions which are, as it were, their

favorite haunts. In the south, the snow is never seen in all its glory;

it is only in exceptional localities, and on rare days, when it resists

the sunshine, that we can form any idea of the splendor of its hues in

other regions, and of the peculiar transparency of the shadows that

float over its white masses. Christian was seized with enthusiasm.

While comparing the relative comfort of the cottage (a comfort

altogether excessive as regards heat) with the solemn severity of the

spectacle without, he began to dream about the life of the danneman,

and to form a picture of it in his imagination, until it actually

seemed to him his own life; until he began to imagine that he was in

his own house, his own country, his own family.

There is no one of us who, at one time or another, when vividly

impressed by some combination of outward scenery or circumstance, has

not fallen into one of those strange reveries, in which our life seems

double; when we behold the scene before us not only for what it is,

but also--like an object reflected in a mirror--as the reflection of

some picture already imprinted upon the mind. We imagine that we have

already trod the road we are passing; that we have already known, in a

previous phase of our existence, the persons we are meeting; that we

have fallen back into some scene of the past in which we have already

lived. This sort of hallucination of the memory was so complete in

Christian’s case, that it seemed to him that he must clearly have

understood, at some former period, this Dalecarlian language, which

he had just found so unintelligible. While listening mechanically to

the sweet and grave speech of the danneman, he began unconsciously to

finish his sentences before he had uttered them, and to give them a

meaning. Suddenly he started up, as if waking from a trance, and laid

his hand heavily upon the major’s shoulder.

“I understand!” he cried, extremely agitated; “it is very strange, but

I understand. Did not the danneman say just now that he had a dozen

cows, and that three of them had become so wild last summer that he

could not bring them back to his house in the autumn? that they were

lost, and that he had been obliged to shoot one of the remaining ones,

to keep it from running away like the others?”

“He did really say so,” replied the major; “but it did not occur last

summer. The danneman was saying that all this happened twenty years

ago.”

“No matter,” replied Christian, “you see that I understood almost

everything. How do you explain that, Osmund?”

“I do not know. But I am not so much surprised as you; it is the result

of your incredible facility in learning all languages, in constructing

them, and explaining them in your own mind, according to analogies that

exist between them.”

“No, that was not the process through which my mind passed; it came to

me like a reminiscence.”

“That, again, is possible. You probably studied, in your childhood, a

quantity of things of which you retain a confused recollection. Come,

try it again; listen to what those young girls are saying: do you

understand?”

“No,” said Christian, “it is over; the phenomenon has ceased; I cannot

understand, now, a single word they say.”

He returned to the window to listen to his host, and try to catch once

more, in the same mysterious way, the meaning of what was said; but his

efforts were useless. His confused revery was dissipated, and, in spite

of himself, reason and real impressions resumed their habitual empire

over his mind.

Soon, however, he entered into another train of thought. It was no

longer a fantastic past that appeared to him, but a dream of the future

logically deduced from the resolutions he had formed, and with which he

had entertained the major only an hour before. He saw himself dressed

like the danneman, in a blouse without sleeves, worn over a vest with

long and narrow sleeves, in two pairs of stockings, the inner ones of

wool and those outside of yellow leather, and with his hair cut square

on his forehead. He saw himself seated near his comfortable stove,

relating to some rare visitor stories of his expeditions on fields of

floating ice, or in the currents of the terrible Maelstrom, and in the

obscure recesses of Syltfield.

In this peaceful and primitive scene, which he was imagining as the

frugal recompense of his travels and labors, he naturally tried to

form an idea of the companion who would be associated with him in

the rustic occupations of his maturity. Christian looked attentively

at the daughters of the danneman, but these masculine and severe

creatures were not sufficiently beautiful to make the idea of being

the husband of one of them very delightful. Unless he could sympathize

intellectually with the companion of his life, he would have preferred

to remain a bachelor. In spite of himself, the phantom of Margaret

fluttered into his dream in the form of a blond little fée, disguised

like a young mountaineer, and prettier in her white chemise and green

bodice than in her fine hooped skirt, and her satin slippers. But this

fantastic toilet was only a transient masquerade: Margaret was a figure

detached from another frame; she could only cross the threshold of the

chalet with a smile, and disappear in the blue and silver sleigh, where

Christian would never be allowed to seat himself by her side.

“Go, Margaret!” he said. “What are you doing here? An abyss separates

us, and for me you are only a vision hovering in the moonlight. My

wife will be a dull reality--or rather, I shall have no wife; I will

be a miner, a laborer, or a wandering merchant, like my host; and will

work for twenty years, so as to be able at last to build my nest upon

the point of one of these rocks. Very well, when I am fifty years

old I will settle on some magnificent site, and, living there like

a hermit, will bring up some abandoned child, who will love me as I

loved Goffredi! Why not? And if, in the meanwhile, I have discovered

something useful to my fellow men, shall I not be happy?”

Thus did Christian ponder upon the problem of his destiny; but however

humble his dream of happiness, it faded away before the idea of

solitude.

“What is the meaning,” he said to himself, “of this longing for a

serious love, by which I have been possessed for the last twenty-four

hours? Hitherto, I have troubled myself but little about the morrow.

Come, can I not apply to these cravings, to these cries of my heart,

the good and sound philosophy which I opposed, in talking to Osburn,

to material luxuries and comforts? If, in my project of reform, I

can forget my physical wants, subject myself to the rudest physical

hardships, can I not also impose silence upon my imagination, and

forbid it this flattering dream of happiness? Why, how now, Christian!

Since you have settled and decided that you have no peculiar claims to

happiness, can you not accept your fate? can you not say to yourself:

‘What I have to do is not to breathe the perfume of roses; it is to

walk over thorns without looking behind me’?”

Christian’s heart was torn as he tried to form this resolution, and his

face was bathed with tears; he hid it in his hands, and bowed his head,

as if asleep.

“What, Christian!” cried the major, rising from the table; “is this the

moment for falling asleep, and for you, too, the most eager of us all

for the hunt? Come and drink the stirrup cup, and let us start.”

Christian started up, crying _bravo_. His eyes were wet, but his

smile was so gay that no one dreamed he had been weeping.

“We have now to decide,” resumed the major, “which of us shall have the

honor of making the first attack upon his furred majesty.”

“Don’t you draw lots, and leave it for chance to decide?” said

Christian. “I thought that was the custom.”

“So it is; but you entertained and interested us so much last evening,

that we have been asking each other what we could do for you in

return, and this is the conclusion to which the lieutenant and myself

have arrived, with the consent of the corporal, whose vote is worth

just as much as ours: we will draw lots, and the lucky one will have

the pleasure of offering you the long straw.”

“Upon my word!” said Christian, “I am really very grateful for your

kindness. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart, my excellent

friends; but it is quite possible that you are sacrificing a pleasure

that I am not worthy to appreciate. I have not claimed to be an ardent

and skilful hunter. I am only a curious--”

“Do you feel any timidity?” rejoined the major. “If that is the case--”

“I cannot feel any timidity,” replied Christian, “since I don’t know

anything about the dangers of this hunt, and I do not consider myself

such a coward as to be unwilling to go where danger of any kind is to

be encountered. I repeat that I have no sort of vanity in the matter; I

have never performed any exploit which gives me a right to monopolize

a triumph. Can you not give me a place which will make all our chances

equal?”

“That is impossible. We have equal chances when we draw lots; but the

one who wins must take the lead.”

“Very well,” said Christian, “I will take the lead, I will start the

game; but, I assure you, if there is any one here indifferent to

killing him with his own hand, it is myself; in fact, I should much

prefer having time to examine the action and walk of the animal while

he is alive.”

“But suppose he should fly, and make his escape before you can examine

him? No one can foresee what his caprice will be. The bear is usually

timid, and, for the most part, in case of assault, he thinks only of

flight, except when he is wounded. Be advised by me, Christian; and

if you really care to see anything interesting, undertake the attack:

otherwise, you will perhaps only see the dead animal after the combat;

for it seems that he is intrenched in a narrow space, behind some thick

brambles.”

“Well then, I accept your offer,” said Christian, “and I promise to

show you a bear-hunt this evening, on my stage, into which I will try

and introduce something entertaining. Yes, really, I will be as amusing

as possible, in proof of my gratitude. And now, major, tell me what

I must do, and what is the best method for killing a bear properly,

without making it suffer too much; for I am a sentimental hunter, and

must acknowledge that I am not in the slightest degree ferocious.”

“What!” rejoined the major, “have you never seen a bear killed?”

“Never!”

“Oh! then, that is different; we withdraw our proposition. No one here

wants to see you disabled, dear Christian! Isn’t that so, comrades? And

what would Countess Margaret say, if we should carry back her partner

minus a leg?”

The lieutenant and corporal agreed with the major, that it would not do

to expose a novice to a serious engagement with this ferocious beast;

but Margaret’s name, which, to Christian’s great regret, had been

pronounced as associated with him, had set his heart beating. From that

moment he claimed the favor that had been granted him, with as much

ardor as he had before shown modesty or indifference in avoiding it.

“If I should happen to be successful in killing this bear in good

style,” he thought, “this barbarian princess will not blush so deeply,

perhaps, at our defunct friendship; and if the bear kills me in a

tragic manner, she may, possibly, shed in secret a tear of pity over

the fate of the poor actor.”

When the major saw that Christian was really annoyed at being obliged

to draw lots, he persuaded his companions to give him the first chance,

as a favor, as they had intended. But, in the meanwhile, he went up to

the danneman, and said to him, in his own language:

“Friend, since in your character of guide you are to go in advance with

our dear Christian, keep close to him, I implore you. It is his first

trial.”

The Dalecarlian was greatly surprised, and could not understand, at

first, what the major meant; he made him repeat the warning, and then,

looking at Christian attentively, shook his head.

“He is a handsome young man,” he said, “and he has a good heart, I am

sure! He ate my _kakebroe_ as if he had never done anything else

all his life; he has Dalecarlian teeth, and yet, it seems, he is a

stranger! He pleases me. I am sorry that he cannot talk Dalecarlian

with me, and still more sorry that he is going where those more skilful

than either he or myself have remained.”

The _kakebroe_, to which the danneman referred, was neither more

nor less than the ordinary bread of the country, which was made of rye,

oats, and pounded bark. The pulverized birch-bark, which was one of its

ingredients, made it very hard, even when fresh; and as no one cooks in

this country more than twice a year at the most, it becomes, when dry

and stale, a sort of flat stone, which strangers find very difficult

to masticate. The saying of the Danish bishop who marched against the

Dalecarlians in the time of Gustavus Wasa, is historical: “The devil

himself cannot get the better of people who eat wood!”

As the danneman, in spite of his enthusiasm for the heroic mastication

of his stranger guest, did not seem able to answer for his safety,

Larrson’s anxiety was renewed, and he again attempted to dissuade

Christian. The danneman interrupted him by begging every one to go out,

except the stranger. They guessed his intention, and Larrson explained

it to Christian.

“You will have to go through some cabalistic initiation,” he said;

“I told you that our peasants believe in all sorts of influences and

mysterious divinities; I see that the danneman will not guide you to

his bear with any confidence, until he has rendered you invulnerable by

a formula or talisman of some sort. Will you consent?”

“To be sure I will!” cried Christian; “whatever informs me of the

peculiarities of the manners and customs of a people, I welcome with

all my heart. Leave me alone with the danneman, dear major, and, if he

shows me the devil, I promise to describe him to you exactly.”

When the danneman was tête-à-tête with his guest, he took his hand, and

said in Swedish:

“Don’t be afraid!”

Then he conducted him to one of the two beds that stood in a transverse

niche at the end of the room, and called three times: “Karine, Karine,

Karine!” after which he drew aside an old stained leather curtain, and

disclosed to view an angular form, and a face of alarming pallor.

It was an aged and feeble woman, who seemed to have great difficulty

in waking, and who, with the danneman’s assistance, raised herself in

the bed, so that she might look at Christian. At the same time, the

danneman repeated his warning:

“Don’t be afraid!”

“It is my sister,” he added, “whom you may have heard spoken of; a

famous seeress, a _vala_ of the old times.”

The old woman, whose profound slumber had not been disturbed by the

noise of the breakfast and conversation, seemed trying to collect her

ideas. Her livid face was calm and gentle. She held out her hand, and

the danneman placed that of Christian in it; but she withdrew hers

instantly with a sort of terror, and said in Swedish:

“_Mon Dieu!_ what is the matter? Is it you, Monsieur Baron? Pardon

me for not rising. I have had so much fatigue in my poor life!”

“You are mistaken, my good woman,” replied Christian, “you do not know

me; I am not the baron.”

The danneman addressed his sister in Dalecarlian, and probably to the

same effect, for she replied in Swedish:

“I know that you are deceiving me; that is the _great iarl_! What

does he want in our house? Will he not let her sleep who has watched so

long?”

“Do not pay any attention to her,” said the danneman, addressing

Christian; “her mind is still asleep, and she continues her dream.

Soon, she will speak sensibly.”

He added, in Dalecarlian, for his sister’s benefit:

“Come, Karine, look at this young man, and tell him whether he must go

with me to hunt the _wicked one_?”

So it is that the Dalecarlian peasant calls the bear, whose name he is

extremely reluctant to pronounce.

Karine hid her eyes with her hand, and spoke to her brother with great

vivacity.

“Speak in Swedish, since you know Swedish,” said Christian, who wanted

to understand the practices of the seeress. “I beg you, good mother, to

tell me what I am to do.”

The seeress closed her eyes with a sort of obstinacy, and said:

“You are not he I was dreaming about, or else you have forgotten the

language of your cradle. Leave me, both of you, you and your shadow; I

will not speak; I have sworn never to tell what I know.”

“Have patience,” said the danneman to Christian. “She is always so at

first. Beg her mildly, and she will tell your fortune.”

Christian renewed his petition, and the seeress, still concealing her

eyes with her pale hands, and assuming a poetic style which seemed

learned by heart, at last replied:

“The ravenous one howls on the heath, his supports fail him; he rushes

forth!--he rushes towards the east, through a valley full of poisons,

of peat, and of mud.”

“Does that mean that he will escape us?” said the danneman, who

listened religiously to his sister.

“I see them walking through noisome torrents,” she resumed, “the

perjurers and the murderers! _Do you understand that? Do you know

what I mean to say?_”

“No, I don’t understand it at all,” replied Christian, who recognized

a refrain of the ancient Scandinavian songs of the _Voluspa_, and

who thought that he also recognized the voice heard among the boulders

of Stollborg.

“Do not interrupt her,” said the danneman. “Go on, Karine; we are

listening.”

“I saw the fire burning in the hall of the rich, but before the door

stood death.”

“Do you mean that for this young man?” inquired the danneman.

Without seeming to hear him, she continued:

“One day, in a field, I gave my garments to two wooden men; when they

were clothed they resembled heroes: the naked man is timid.”

“There, you see!” cried Bœtsoi, looking at Christian with an air of

simple triumph; “now, I hope, she is speaking clearly.”

“Do you think so?”

“Of course I think so. She recommends you to be well clothed and well

armed.”

“That is certainly good advice, but is that all?”

“Listen, listen! she is going to speak again,” said the danneman.

The seeress resumed:

“The fool thinks he will live forever if he avoids the combat; but even

age will not give him peace: the destroyer comes with his spear. _Do

you understand? Do you know what I mean to say?_”

“Yes, yes, Karine!” cried the danneman, now quite satisfied. “You have

spoken well, and now you can go to sleep again; the children will watch

over you, and you shall not be troubled again.”

“Leave me then,” said Karine; “now, _the vala falls into the

night_.”

She hid her face in the bedding, and her thin body seemed to sink and

disappear in her mattress of eider-down, a rich present which had been

made her by the danneman, who regarded her with the utmost veneration.

“I hope you are contented,” he said to Christian, as he took a long

cord from a corner of the room; “the prediction is good.”

“Yes, very good,” replied Christian. “This time, I understood. Prudent

people gain nothing by hiding themselves; the best way is to march

straight on the enemy. Well then, forward, my dear host! But what are

you doing with that cord?”

“Give me your arm,” replied the danneman.

He began to roll the cord carefully around Christian’s left arm.

“That will be enough to amuse the _wicked one_,” he said; “while

he has this arm in his claws, with your other hand you will rip open

his belly with this spear. But I will explain what you must do as we go

along. You are ready; let us start.”

“Well,” cried the officers, who were awaiting Christian in the

vestibule; “shall we have good luck?”

“For my part,” said Christian, “it seems that I am invulnerable; but I

am afraid the bear won’t be so well off. The seeress said that he would

fly to the east.”

“No, no,” replied the danneman, whose serious and confident manner

forbade any joking; “it was said that the ravenous one would rush

towards the east, but not that he would not be killed. Forward!”

Before following Christian to the hunt, we will return, for some

moments, to the chateau de Waldemora, whence the baron had started with

all his able-bodied male guests, and two or three hundred trackers,

immediately after sunrise.

The place towards which this seignorial battue proceeded, was much

lower down on the mountain than the danneman’s cottage. It was quite

accessible to the ladies, who all went, some with the resolution of

seeing the bear-hunt as near as possible, and others, less courageous,

promising themselves that they would not venture further than to the

edge of the wood. Olga, who was eager to show the baron that she was

interested in his prowess, was among the former. Margaret, who did

not care at all for the baron’s prowess, and Mademoiselle Martina

Akerstrom, the daughter of the minister of the parish, and the fiancée

of Lieutenant Osburn--an excellent young girl, rather too high colored

for beauty, but agreeable, affectionate, and sincere, whom Margaret

preferred to any of her other new acquaintances--were among the latter.

We may as well state, in passing, that Minister Mickelson, of whom

mention was made in relating the story of Baroness Hilda, had died

long ago, after rashly quarrelling, it was asserted, with Baron Olaus.

His successor was a very respectable man, and although his living was

in the gift of the chatelain, as was the right of certain fiefs, he

showed great dignity and independence in his relations with the Snow

Man. Perhaps the baron had found out that it was more to his advantage

to be on good terms with a good man, than to have to cater to the bad

passions of a dangerous friend. He treated him with great respect, and

the pastor often appealed to him in behalf of the feeble and poor,

without irritating him by his frankness.

On the whole, there was a lack of excitement in the baron’s hunt.

No one believed that they would find any bears so near the chateau,

especially after several days of revelry and feasting. The bear is

naturally shy and sulky. He has no liking either for orchestral music

or the play of fireworks; and the whisper passed around from one to

the other, that if they should happen to find one, it would surely be

a tame bear and a capital dancer, who would come of his own accord to

give his paw to the chatelain. The weather, however, was magnificent;

the roads through the forest were practicable, and no one failed to be

upon the spot, even the old people, who drove to a very comfortable

rustic pavilion, where breakfast and dinner were to be served, whether

the hunters killed bears or hares.

When the chateau was about deserted, Johan, after sending off on

various pretences the servants of whom he did not feel sure, proceeded

to exercise the duties of the inquisitor, which he had boasted he would

carry through successfully. We subjoin an account of his day, as he

noted down all that occurred, hour by hour, with the greatest precision:

“_Nine o’clock._--The _Italian_ yelling with hunger and thirst. Had

him silenced--that was easily managed.

“No one at Stollborg but Stenson, the lawyer, and his little

valet--Ulph, the drunkard, is not worth mentioning. Christian Waldo has

disappeared, unless he is ill, and in bed. The lawyer, who shares his

room with him, won’t admit any one; I begin to have my doubts about him.

“_Ten o’clock._--The _captain_ sends to inquire if it is

not time to act. Not yet. The Italian has still too much strength.

Christian Waldo is decidedly absent. I went into the famous bear-room,

and found the lawyer at work. He says that he don’t know where the man

with the marionettes has gone. I saw the baggage of the latter. He is

not far.

“_Eleven o’clock._--I have unearthed Christian Waldo’s valet in

the stables of the new chateau, and have made him talk. He knows his

master’s real name: _Dulac_. He must be French, then, and not

Italian. A more interesting discovery due to this Puffo is, that there

are two Waldos here instead of one. Puffo did not work the marionettes

last evening, and the Waldo who talked to me (the man with the

wine-colored birth-mark) told me a dozen lies. Puffo does not know who

his assistant could have been. For his part, he was drunk and asleep.

He cannot imagine, he says, who could have replaced him. I had some

idea of sending him to the captain, but felt pretty well satisfied that

what he said was true. I shall not lose sight of him. He may be useful.

“This second Waldo must be the false Goefle. So, if we don’t let them

know that they are suspected, we can seize them both to-night. I

thought old Stenson seemed rather anxious, and told him that he would

be left undisturbed. In any event, he must be reassured, so that he may

not escape us.

“_Noon._--I have it all: the secret proof which I send you, and

the disclosures of the Italian, which are as follows: (He did not make

the least resistance; the mere sight of our chamber of roses rendered

him demonstrative.)

“Christian Waldo is really he whom you are seeking. He is handsome and

well-made; his description corresponds exactly with the appearance of

the false Christian Waldo. The Italian does not know anything about the

man with the birth-mark.

“The famous proof, which I procure you gratis, was hidden between two

stones, behind the hogar, in a very well-chosen place, which I will

show you. I went to get it myself, and I send it to you without knowing

what its value may be. You can judge about that. I have sent M. Italian

some breakfast; his real name is Guido Massarelli.

“Do not be in any haste to leave the chase, and show no impatience,

even if the papers I send should really be of importance. These

mountebanks are undoubtedly in league with Guido, but as they have not

been able to communicate with him since yesterday, we have them all in

our power. Guido offers to turn against them, but I do not trust him.

If the whole thing is merely a mystification to get money out of you,

we will pay in another manner than they expect, and will pay dear!”

Having closed his bulletin, Johan tied it to the portfolio which Guido

had been forced to deliver up, and sent it, carefully sealed, and by

the surest of his messengers, to the baron’s address at the rendezvous

of the hunt.