THE MIDSUMMER FESTIVAL
It was the middle of June. School was over and vacation had begun. Gerda
and Birger were on their way to Rättvik, taking Karen with them so that
she might see the great midsummer festival before going to spend the
summer at the Sea-gull Light.
"Isn't this the best fun we ever had,--to be travelling alone, without
any one to take care of us?" asked Birger, as the train whizzed along
past fields and forests, lakes and rivers.
"It feels just as if we were tourists," replied Gerda, straightening her
hat and nestling close to Karen.
Karen dimpled and smiled. "I don't see your wonder-eyes, such as tourists
always have," she said.
"That is because we have been to Rättvik so many times that we know every
house and tree and rail-fence along the way," answered Birger. "We have
stopped at Gefle and seen the docks with their great piles of lumber and
barrels of tar; and we have been to Upsala, the ancient capital of
Sweden, and seen the famous University which was founded fifteen years
before Columbus discovered America."
"Last summer Father took us to Falun to visit the wonderful copper
mines," added Gerda; "but I never want to go there again," and she
shivered as she thought of the dark underground halls and chambers.
"We saw a fire there, which was lighted hundreds of years ago and has
never once been allowed to go out," said Birger. "The miners light their
lamps and torches at the flame."
"Look, there are the chimneys of Falun now," cried Gerda, pointing out of
the car window; and a half-hour later the children found themselves at
the neat little Rättvik station.
"Six o'clock, and just on time," said Grandmother Ekman's cheerful voice,
and the next moment all three were gathered in a great hug.
"Is there room for triplets in your house?" asked Gerda. "We have
outgrown our twinship now, and there are three of us, instead of two."
"There is enough of everything, for Karen to have her good share," said
the grandmother heartily; and they were soon driving along the pleasant
country road, toward the red-painted farmhouse and the quiet living-room
where the tall clock was still ticking cheerfully.
The next morning, and the next, the twins were up bright and early to
show Karen all their favorite haunts; and the days flew by like minutes.
"Don't you love it, here in Rättvik, Karen dear?" asked Gerda, on the
third day, as the two little girls were busily at work in the pleasant
living-room.
"Yes," replied Karen; "but you never told me half enough beautiful things
about it. Surely there can be no lovelier place in the whole world than
the mill-pool where we went yesterday with Linda Nilsson."
Karen was coloring the letters in a motto to hang on the wall: and Gerda,
who was weaving a rug on her grandmother's wooden loom, crossed the room
to admire her friend's work. She leaned against Karen's chair and read
the words of the motto aloud: "To read and not know, is to plow and not
sow."
"That is Grandmother Ekman's favorite motto," she said. "She believes
that a burning, golden plowshare was dropped from heaven ages ago, in the
beginning of Sweden's history, as a symbol of what the gods expected of
the people; and she says that a well-kept farm and a well-read book are
the most beautiful things in the world."
Birger looked up from the door-step where he was whittling out a mast for
one of his boats. "If I didn't intend to be an admiral in the navy when I
am a man," he said, "I should come here and take care of the farm. It
really is the prettiest farmhouse and the best farm in Dalarne."
"It certainly will be the prettiest by night, when we have it dressed up
for the midsummer festival," Gerda declared. "Come, Birger! Come, Karen!
We must go and gather flowers and birch leaves to decorate the house."
"But we must put away our work first," said orderly Karen, gathering up
her paints and brushes.
Gerda ran to push the loom back into the corner. As she did so, she said
with a smile, "The first rug I ever made was very ugly. It had a great
many dark strips in it. That was because my grandmother made me weave in
a dark strip every time I was naughty."
Karen laughed. "How I would like to see it," she said.
"Oh, I have it now. I will show it to you," and Gerda crossed the room
and opened one of the chests which were ranged against the wall.
"This is my own chest, where my grandmother keeps everything I make," she
said, as she lifted the cover and took out a bundle. Opening the bundle,
she unrolled a funny little rug.
Pointing to a wide black stripe in the middle, Gerda said, "That was for
the time I broke the vinegar jug, and spoiled Ebba Jorn's dress."
"Oh, tell me about it!" cried Karen.
"No," replied Gerda, "it was too naughty to tell about;" and she put the
rug quickly back into the chest.
"I didn't know you were ever naughty," said Karen, laughing merrily.
Then, as the two little girls put on their caps and took up their baskets
to go flower-hunting, she asked, "Who is Ebba Jorn?"
"She lives across the lake, and she is going to be married to-morrow,"
answered Gerda. "We can walk in her procession."
Karen gave a little gasp of pleasure. "Oh, what fun!" she exclaimed. Then
she stopped and looked down at her dress. "But I have nothing to wear,"
she said. "All my prettiest dresses went home on the steamer with your
father."
"We shall wear our rainbow skirts," Gerda told her. "And you can wear one
of mine."
Just then she caught sight of a crowd of boys and girls in a distant
meadow, and ran to join them; calling to Birger and Karen to come, too.
"They are gathering flowers to trim the Maypole for the midsummer
festival," she cried.
It is small wonder that the people of the Northland joyously celebrate
the bright, sunny day of midsummer, after the cold days and long dark
nights of winter. It is an ancient custom, coming down from old heathen
times, when fires were lighted on all the hills to celebrate the victory
of Baldur, the sun god, who conquered the frost giants and the powers of
darkness.
On Midsummer's Eve, the twenty-third of June, a majstång is erected in
every village green in Sweden. The villagers and peasants, young and old,
gather from far and near, and dance around the May-pole all through the
long night, which is no night at all, but a glowing twilight, from late
sunset till early dawn.
There was a great deal of work to be done in preparation for this
festival, and such a busy day as the children had! They gathered
basketfuls of flowers, and long streamers of ground pine, which they made
into ropes and wreaths. They cut great armfuls of birch boughs, and
decorated the little farmhouse, inside and out; placing the graceful
branches with their tender green leaves wherever there was a spot to hold
them. Over the doors and windows, up and down the porch, along the fence,
and even around the well, they twined the long ropes and fastened the
green wreaths and boughs.
After a hasty lunch they rowed across the lake and spent the afternoon at
the village green, helping to dress the tall majstång; and when their
supper of berries and milk and caraway bread was eaten, they were glad
enough to tumble into bed, although the sun was till shining and would
not set until nearly eleven o'clock.
"Wait until to-morrow," murmured Gerda drowsily; "then you will see the
happiest day of the whole year."
Karen tried to tell her that every day was happy, now that she could run
and play like other children; but she fell asleep in the middle of the
sentence, and Gerda hadn't even heard the beginning of it.
"The sun has been dancing over the hills for hours," called Grandmother
Ekman at five o'clock the next morning. "It is time for everyone to be
up and making ready for church."
All the festival days in Sweden begin with a church service, and everyone
goes to church. In the cities the people walk or ride in street-cars
or carriages; but in Dalarne some ride on bicycles, some drive, some sail
across the lake in the little steamer, and others row in the Sunday boat.
Grandmother Ekman always followed the good old custom of rowing with her
neighbors in the long boat, and six o'clock found her at the wharf with
the three children, all carrying a beautiful branch of white birch with
its shining green leaves.
"This is just what I have wanted to do, ever since you told me about it
at the Sea-gull Light," whispered Karen, as they found seats in the boat
and began the pleasant journey across the peaceful, shining water.
Gerda was in a great state of excitement. She discovered so many things
to chatter about that Grandmother Ekman said at last, "Hush, child!
You must compose yourself for church and the Bible reading."
Then Gerda became sober at once, and sat quietly enough during the
service, until she fell to thinking how lovely the May-pole would look
in its gala dress of green, red, yellow and white.
"It will be wearing a rainbow skirt, like all the girls in the village,"
she thought; and surprised her grandmother by smiling in the midst of the
sermon, at the thought of how very tall this Maypole maiden would be.
The May-pole is always the tallest, slenderest tree that can be found,
and the one which Gerda and Karen had helped to decorate was at least
sixty feet from base to tip. It had been brought from the forest by the
young men of the village, and trimmed of its bark and branches until it
looked like the mast of a vessel. Hoops and crosspieces reaching out in
every direction were fastened to the pole, and it was then decorated with
flowers, streamers, garlands and tiny flags.
Now it was leaning against the platform in the village green, not far
from the church, where it was to be raised after the service.
When Gerda and Karen reached the green they found a group of young people
gathered about the pole, tying strings of gilded hearts, festoons of
colored papers, and fluttering banners to its yard-arms.
"Now it is ready to be raised!" shouted Nils Jorn at last, and everybody
fell away to make room for the men who were to draw it into its place
with ropes and tackle.
"Suppose it should break!" gasped Karen, and held her breath while it
rose slowly in the air. As it settled into the deep hole prepared for it,
Nils Jorn waved his cap and shouted. Then some one else shouted, and soon
everybody was shouting and dancing, and the festival of the green leaf
had begun.
All day and all night the fun ran high, with singing and dancing and
feasting.
When there was a lull in the merriment, it was because a long procession
had formed to accompany the bride and bridegroom to the church. After the
ceremony was over, and the same procession had accompanied them to the
shore of the lake, some one called out, "Now let us choose a queen and
crown her, and carry her back to the May-pole where she shall decide who
is the best dancer."
Oh, it was a hard moment for many of them then, for every maiden hoped
that she would be the one to be chosen. But Nils Jorn caught sight of
Gerda's merry smile, and nodded toward her.
"Gerda Ekman has seen plenty of dancing in Stockholm," he said. "Let her
be our queen."
"Yes, yes!" shouted the others; and for a moment it looked as if Gerda
would, indeed, have her wish to wear a crown. But when she saw Karen's
wistful look, she turned quickly to her friends and said, "Let me,
instead, choose the queen; and I will choose Karen Klasson. I want this
to be the happiest day of all the year for her."
"One queen is as good as another," said Nils Jorn cheerfully; so they led
Karen back to the May-pole and she was made queen of the festival and
crowned with green leaves.
After a few minutes Gerda found a seat beside her under the canopy of
birch boughs, and the two little girls watched the dancing together.
Everyone was happy and jolly. The fiddler swept his bow across the
strings until they sang their gayest polka. The accordion puffed and
wheezed in its attempt to follow the merry tune. The platform was crowded
with dancers, whirling and stamping, turning and swinging, laughing and
singing.
The tall pole quivered and shook until all the streamers rustled, all the
flags fluttered, and all the birch leaves murmured to each other that
summer had come and the sun god had conquered the frost giants.
"This is truly the happiest day of all my life," Karen said; "and it is
you, Gerda, who have made it so. I was lame and lonely in the cold
Northland, and you came, bringing me health and happiness."
"Mother says I must never forget that I was named for the goddess who
shed light and sunshine over the world," replied Gerda soberly. Then she
drew her friend closer and whispered, "But think, Karen, of all the good
times we shall have next year, when you can go to school with me, and we
can share all our happiness with each other;" and she clapped her hands
and whirled Karen off into the crowd of dancers,--the gayest and happiest
of them all.
End of Project Gutenberg's Gerda in Sweden, by Etta Blaisdell McDonald