Part 12

It was with no light heart he relinquished his cherished plan of rebuilding the house. That was to have been his crowning work. All his life he had dreamed of erecting a fine manor-house on his beloved Mårbacka.

The great piles of timber and the finished roof trusses lay in the backyard for many years. Whenever the Lieutenant walked past them he turned his head away; he could not bear to look at them. His little daughters had been so very happy when he started on the roof trusses, and not altogether on account of the “royal visit.” It was perhaps of more importance to them that they should have a real salon to dance in, and that the house should have two stories, and be as grand as Iron-Master Wallroth’s Gårdsjö or Engineer Noreen’s country seat. They grew uneasy over the delay, year after year, and one of the girls finally mustered the courage to ask her father when he was going to put up those roof trusses.

“I’m afraid never, my child!” When he said this his face twitched and there was a strange catch in his voice. Then, quickly recovering himself, he added, banteringly:

“But it doesn’t matter now, my girl. They are building a railway to Norway, and hereafter the King won’t come asking for a night’s lodging, either at Mårbacka or any other manor in Värmland.”

WORKDAYS AND FÊTE-DAYS

I

NOONING

LIEUTENANT LAGERLÖF believed that children, in order to grow up healthy and strong and become useful and capable men and women, should above all things acquire the habit of nooning. With that object in mind, always, after the midday meal, he would take the two youngest children down to the farm-office, which was in another building a few steps from the house.

The office was a large room, and probably looked about the same as in the days of the Mårbacka clergymen, when it had been their study. At the far end, under a window, there was a black leather lounge, and before it an oblong table. Along one side-wall stood a bedstead, a black leather-seated chair, a large black walnut writing table, and a high chest of drawers, while at the other side stood another bed and black leather chair and a tile stove. On the wall, beyond the stove, hung three fowling pieces, a seal-skin game-bag, a large horse-pistol, a couple of powder horns, and a fencing foil which crossed a broken sabre. In the midst of this armoury rested a huge pair of elk antlers. Down by the door, on one side, there was a stationary clothes cupboard, on the other side, a bookcase. At the bottom of the cupboard reposed the Lieutenant’s iron-bound oak chest, the one the Paymaster of the Regiment had used, and which was a bit charred on one corner.

In the bookcase the Lieutenant kept his big ledgers, and there, also, were the school books of two generations. Many annuals of the _European Feuilleton_ were crowded in with Homer, Cicero, and Livy. Histories of Peter the Great and Frederick the Wise had been relegated hither on account of their common drab cardboard bindings, also the works of Wilhelm von Braun--though not because of their covers but for other reasons. On the floor lay surveyors’ instruments from the time the Lieutenant had assisted in the shifting of boundary lines; also some boxes of fishing tackle and odds and ends.

First thing, on coming into the office, the Lieutenant and his little daughters had to drive out the flies. Doors and windows were thrown wide open. The Lieutenant caught up a towel for the chase, and the little girls took off their aprons and went to beating the air. They climbed on to chairs and tables, hunted and swatted, while the buzzing flies flew hither and yon, as if determined not to go. However, in the end they were cleared out, and windows and doors were closed.

But there was one fly they called the Old Office Fly; she was used to the daily chase, and knew enough to keep out of the way while it went on. When all was quiet and peaceful again, she would come forth from her hiding place and seat herself on the ceiling.

No fresh chase was started for her. The Lieutenant and the children knew that she was too canny for them. They could never get rid of her! So they went on to the next thing to be done before nooning. The girls arranged two leather pillows and a down pillow on the lounge as a head-rest for the Lieutenant; whereupon he stretched himself out, shut his eyes, and simulated sleep.

Then, with wild shrieks, the children threw themselves upon him. He tossed them off as if they were little balls of yarn, but back they came like playful puppies. They pulled his whiskers, ruffled his hair, and clambered up on to the sofa, playing all sorts of pranks on him.

When the Lieutenant thought the children had had enough of play he clapped his hands once, and said:

“It’s over now.”

Little good that did! The children kept right on; again and again they crawled up on to the sofa, were flung off, and came bounding back--shrieking and making a fearful racket.

When that had gone on for some little time, the Lieutenant clapped twice and said: “It’s quite over now.”

Nor did that have any effect. The same performance was repeated amid shrieks and laughter, until the Lieutenant presently clapped his hands three times, and said:

“Now it is really and truly over.”

The two children instantly hushed their noise, and each crept into her own bed to sleep.

After a little the Lieutenant began to snore. His snores were not very loud, but they were enough to keep the two children, who were to acquire the habit of nooning, awake.

The youngsters were not allowed to get out of bed or speak to each other, but had to lie perfectly still. Their eyes, meanwhile, wandered round the room. Gazing at the rag mats on the floor, they recognized their mother’s and their aunt’s old dresses, which had been cut up for carpets. They looked at the portrait of General Malmberg, which hung on the wall between two battle canvasses, at the ink-well and pen, at the antlers and game-bags, at the foil and the famous gun called the “harekiller.” They traced the figures in the quilt, they counted the stars on the wall-paper, the nail-heads along the floor, and the checks in the curtains. The hour seemed dreadfully long! They heard the merry voices of the other children, who were so big they did not have to take a midday nap, but ran about--happy and free--devouring cherries and gooseberries and green apples!

The sole hope of the two little girls was the “office fly.” She buzzed and buzzed round the Lieutenant’s face, making as much noise as she could. If only she kept at it long enough she’d wake him up!

II

MAMSELLE BRORSTRÖM

THE undergraduates at the _Gymnasium_ of Karlstad had been unusually quiet in the beginning of the autumn semester. They had not started any fights with the street boys, or been up to any other deviltry. The whole city was surprised, pleased, and thankful, though no doubt people felt at the same time that something was lacking.

Then, as it drew on toward autumn Fair-time, when folk from all parts of Värmland were coming to the capital of the province, the students felt they must do something to maintain their reputation. Now it was not merely a question of Karlstad, but of all Värmland. After due deliberation, when various propositions had been presented and rejected, a schoolboy named Fredrik Sandberg was summoned to appear before the collegians.

Fredrik Sandberg obeyed orders, of course, for in those days it never would have done for the schoolboys to defy the collegians, who were their overlords. Nor would it have been well for the one who attempted to evade a summons from that quarter!

When Fredrik came the students togged him out in frilled shirt and stock, satin waistcoat of large flowered pattern, gray trousers with foot-straps, blue swallow-tail coat with silver buttons, and patent leather shoes. His hair was then curled and arranged in a forelock, gloves and walking stick were put into his hands, and a tall stove-pipe hat with curved brim topped it all.

If only Fredrik Sandberg had not been so small that the trousers hung in pleats, the coat tails almost trailed on the ground, and the hat went down on his ears, he would have been as fine a dandy as ever trod a city street. Thus arrayed, he was ordered off to Mamselle Brorström’s.

When Fredrik Sandberg entered the attic room where Mamselle Brorström lived, he found her standing before her tile-stove making waffles. Her attire was a bit so-so--just a petticoat and undervest. The little schoolboy thought to himself that never had he seen such arms and legs, such hands and feet, and such a torso!

“My name is Fredrik Sandberg,” he said by way of introduction, “and I would most humbly beg that I may be permitted to invite Mamselle Brorström to the Fair Ball at the Masonic Lodge.”

Mamselle Brorström was not exactly what would be termed “in society,” and had surely never thought of going to a fair ball. But now, being invited by an elegant cavalier, she could hardly refuse. So, curtsying to Fredrik Sandberg, she thanked him and said she felt highly honoured, and would be most happy to attend the ball.

The boy was pleased at being so well received, for it might have turned out quite otherwise. He ran back to the students as quickly as possible, and reported all that had taken place.

A week later Fredrik Sandberg was again ordered to appear before the collegians, and again dressed up as before, and sent to Mamselle Brorström.

This time he found her standing before her looking-glass trying on a red tulle dress. Her neck and arms were bare and she turned and twisted impatiently, apparently in a dreadful humour.

The little boy stared at the huge woman, who was twice as tall as he, twice as broad, and twice as strong. He gazed at the thick arms sticking out from the sleeveless red tulle bodice, and the enormous legs showing below the short skirts; he looked at her coarse face, copper-coloured from constant exposure to fire--for she was always making waffles--and he looked at her black tousled hair standing out like a bush round her head; he saw the fiery gleam in her blood-shot eyes and heard the thundering tones of her raucous voice. The boy wanted to cut and run, but having been sent there by the college students and knowing what disobedience to that authority meant, he bowed to Mamselle Brorström, and said:

“I most humbly beg that I may have the pleasure of the first waltz at the Fair Ball.”

Mamselle Brorström had been rather repentant and thoughtful that morning, and had wondered if she really ought to go to the ball. She would no doubt have put all thought of it out of her mind if Fredrik Sandberg had not come and begged for the first waltz. But now that she was certain of a dancing partner she was again in good humour. She assured Fredrik Sandberg that she felt both favoured and honoured, and that nothing would afford her greater pleasure than to let him dance with her.

That was the very day of the ball. And in the evening Mamselle Brorström, arrayed in her red tulle dress (than which nothing could be prettier, she thought) appeared at the Masonic Lodge among Karlstaders and Fair visitors. Stalking through the ladies’ dressing room into the grand ballroom, she sat herself down on one of the small cushioned seats along the wall.

People stared, but she did not mind. Having been invited, she had as good a right as any one else to dance at the Fair Ball. She noticed that the other ladies all had acquaintances to chat with, but this did not trouble her; when once the music struck up for the dance, they’d see that she had as fine a partner as any of them.

The regiment band began to play. She saw the foundry clerks step up to the founderers’ daughters, the lieutenants to the officers’ ladies, and the shop clerks to the shopkeepers’ girls--each took his partner. Soon everyone was on the floor whirling round--everyone except Mamselle Brorström, who sat waiting for Fredrik Sandberg.

The collegians were on the platform with the musicians. They had a good view of Mamselle Brorström in her red tulle, sitting all alone in the middle of the long row of wall seats, where the one she was waiting for might easily find her.

The wife of the Governor put up her lorgnette and wondered who that large, conspicuous looking woman was. The daughters of the founderers stuck up their noses at her, while the young ladies of the nobility marvelled that a person of that sort should come to a Fair Ball.

Mamselle Brorström meanwhile remained seated in the one place. Fredrik Sandberg did not put in an appearance and no one else seemed to think of asking her to dance. There was a supper, and after that more dancing. The fine folk were now leaving and the gentlemen began to look a bit flushed; but Mamselle Brorström still sat on.

Then at last Tanner Grunder stepped up and asked for a polka.

“’Tis high time!” said Mamselle Brorström in a voice loud enough to be heard all over the ballroom. And those words became a catch phrase in Värmland.

The tanner had been in a side room playing cards the whole evening, and had just come out for a little spin. As she was the only lady disengaged he naturally went over to her--not knowing, of course, her state of mind.

As Mamselle Brorström stood up to fling herself into the dizzy whirl, Tanner Grunder, to be polite and obliging, said:

“What is Mamselle Brorström’s pleasure--to dance forward or backward?”

“’Tis all one to me just so it goes,” she answered.

This, too, was heard all over the hall, and those words also became a saying in Värmland.

The day after the ball Fredrik Sandberg was again summoned by the collegians, and once again he was togged out and sent to Mamselle Brorström.

He found her standing by the stove, as usual, making waffles. That day she was not attired in red tulle but only in her petticoat and undervest. The schoolboy thought that never had he seen such a sour-looking face, such strong arms and formidable fists. The words he was to speak wanted to stick in his throat. But just outside the door stood three of the most dangerous collegians, and Fredrik knew what it would mean to get into the bad graces of the powers that be!

“I most humbly beg to know whether Mamselle Brorström had a pleasant time last evening at the ball,” he said, and made a low bow.

How Fredrik Sandberg got out of the room, across the hall, down the stairs, and into the street, he never knew. Nor did the three collegians who had been lurking behind the door know how they had been assisted down the stairs. It was well they were there, so that Fredrik was not alone on this treat, which proved to be more than enough for them all.

This episode was imprinted indelibly in the mind of Lieutenant Lagerlöf, who at the time it occurred was a lad attending school at Karlstad. And of an evening, as he sat in his rocker, he would tell the tale to his children. Though he was himself the kindest and gentlest of men, the mad pranks of schoolboys were always a source of amusement to him.

III

RIDING TO “BLÅKULLA”

IN Grandmother Lagerlöf’s time, when the paupers of the community were taken into families and cared for, there was an old wardswoman at Mårbacka who on winter nights used to sleep in the kitchen--though goodness knows the room was crowded enough anyhow, with the housekeeper and five maids all sleeping there! So at the first signs of summer she would betake herself to the barn-loft, where she had found a good comfortable bed in an old discarded sledge, which in bygone winters had been used for carting pig-iron from the smithies in Bergslagerna to the Kymsberg Iron Works.

There for several weeks she had slept in peace and quiet. Then, one night, she was awakened by the sledge moving. She sat bolt upright and looked round. Outside, the night was almost as light as day, but in the barn where the poor old woman lay it was pitch dark, so that she could not see anything. Thinking that she had only been dreaming, she sank back upon her pillow and was soon slumbering again.

But strange to say, she had no more than got to sleep when the sledge began to move again. This time it not only gave a little lurch but went gliding along the floor. Though it moved kind of slowly and cautiously, there was no mistaking that there was life in it.

The old woman sat up and gripped the side of the sledge with both hands. Her hair rose and her jaw fell.

“Merciful God!” she gasped, “it’s crawling!”

But how in the world could such a thing happen? Could it be that an old sledge which had carried pig-iron winter after winter between Bergslagerna and Kymsberg grew restless at night, and must bestir itself a bit once in a while?

The sledge moved faster; now it went bumpety-bump over the uneven floor, and scudded across piles of hay and straw as if taking plunges into deep gulches and flights up steep hills.

“O merciful God! Merciful God!” cried the woman.

But invoking the name of the Lord did not stop the sledge; it ran right on the whole length of the barn-loft, till it struck the wall.

There it must surely stand still, she thought. But no indeed! As soon as it recovered its breath, so to speak, it began to back toward the corner where it first stood.

The wardswoman said later that if in that instant she had not guessed what was wrong with the sledge she surely would have lost her wits.

Oh, no, it was not the old Bergslag journeys haunting the pig-iron sledge--someone had “greased” it! Some witch-hag on the farm or in the district (she didn’t care to mention any names, or even think them) had taken it into her head that she could ride to Blåkulla, the Witches’-kitchen, with more ease and comfort in the old sledge than on a broom-stick, an oven-rake, or a barn door. Perhaps the wicked witch did not know the wardswoman slept in the sledge. In the stress of the moment there was no time to figure on just how it had all come about. But this much was certain: the sledge wanted to be out and off, and it was she--the wardswoman--it was taking to the Witches’ hell instead of the right one.

Lord o’ Mercy! But for the strong barn wall she would already be flying over the village toward the church.

Meanwhile the sledge kept backing. She knew well enough that that was only in order to make a fresh start to break through. Once outside, it would go shooting through the air over tree-tops and mountain ranges. She would be flying above shining lakes and rivers, without the least fear of tumbling into them; she would circle round the church steeple like a jackdaw, and fly on beyond Stor Kil and Grav parishes; but where she would land she hated to think on.

Lord o’ Mercy! The sledge was rushing forward again. There was no doubt that sledge could fly if once it got out into the open; it was making for the wall at terrific speed. The old woman, positive now that the wall would give way, lay down again so as not to be scraped off in the middle when the sledge cut through the boards. This time it struck hard. Oh, what a bump! Again the wall resisted. Now, if only the sledge had the sense to see that it couldn’t get anywhere, and stand still!

But don’t for a moment imagine it! Once more it began to back. That sledge must have been greased with real witch-oil. If it made a third attempt it would surely succeed. Whatever would she do when she got in amongst witches and all the Hosts of Darkness! To be sure she had heard tell of such, but she had never wanted to believe in them. There is so much one would rather not believe until one has seen for oneself whether it is true.

“Merciful Lord, lead me not into temptation,” she prayed. All her life she had endured poverty and contempt without a murmur. But were she now to be offered riches and power, would she be able to resist? Or, were she to learn the magic words that cure sickness in humans and animals, or the ones that make the ground yield good harvests, or those that awaken love in young folk, could she withstand the temptation to use them? Might she only be granted strength to rise above temptation and so preserve her soul unto salvation.

Just then the sledge took a third lunge. Now it tore ahead, creating a rush of wind that whizzed about her ears. She shut her eyes lest she turn giddy, for in the wink of an eyelid she knew she would be soaring high above the earth--high as the lark.

Crash! Now, surely, the wall had given way....

But, thanks be to God! the good board wall still held; it was only the sledge that had broken down. With that, it must have lost all zest for travel. The sledge having come to a dead stop, the wardswoman managed to crawl out and drop down on a heap of straw, to rest after her perilous ride. When in the morning she told it all to the maids and it eventually came to the ears of Grandmother Lagerlöf, the latter thought it sounded a bit queer. Though Grandmother was herself a firm believer in the supernatural, there had to be some semblance of reason and probability behind it. That one could ride to _Blåkulla_ on a light summer’s night, and in a sleigh at that, was something unheard of. Grandmother, of course, went down to the barn and examined the sledge. Finding a couple of long ropes attached to it, she immediately summoned the stableboy and two or three of his companions. After questioning the boys thoroughly, she gave them a good dressing down.

This, too, was one of the Lieutenant’s boy-prank yarns. There were many more up his sleeve; but when he had told this and the one about Mamselle Brorström, Fru Lagerlöf would say:

“Now that is enough for this evening. It’s time for the children to say Good-night, and go to bed.”

IV

BELLMAN BALLADS

AT SIX-THIRTY every morning Nurse made a fire in the children’s room, and at seven o’clock the children had to rise and start dressing. When they were ready, say at about half after seven, and the beds had been hurriedly made, a tray was sent up from the kitchen with bowls of gruel and large pieces of buttered _knäckebröd._ This was the _little_ breakfast. Then, until eight, they sat at a large table by the window and glanced over their lessons. The nursery had to serve as schoolroom, there being no other place available.

On the stroke of eight books were closed. The children then put on their wraps and went out in the half-dark winter morning--whatever the weather. They hurried down to the pond first thing, to see whether there was ice for skating, or, in lieu of that, went sledding on the driveway. If there was nothing else they could do, they ran down to the barn to see the baby rabbits and romp with the sheep-dog.

A little before nine they had _big_ breakfast, which usually consisted of eggs, or griddle-cakes, or fried herring with boiled potatoes, or black pudding with salt pork and cream gravy. At breakfast the family did not sit at the big table, but each person, in turn, helped himself and then sat down at one of the side tables.

At nine sharp one had to be through with the meal, for at that hour lessons began. Then it was back to the nursery again to sit at the long table reading, writing, and figuring until noon. The little girls had a governess now--Ida Melanoz, eldest daughter of Sexton Melanoz, who had her father’s good brain and teaching ability.

At twelve o’clock dinner was served at the round dining table. One of the little girls said grace before the meal, the other after it. Then, rising from table, they kissed Mother’s hand and Father’s hand, and said: “Thanks for the food.” It was never quiet during the dinner hour. Lieutenant Lagerlöf kept the ball of chatter rolling. He could always find something to talk about. If nothing more thrilling had happened than his meeting an old woman in the lane, he would make a whole story out of the incident.