Part 18

“Permit me, Monsieur Goefle,” answered Christian; “in the matter of pride there is no middle course; it must be everything or nothing. I have tried poverty, and I know how easy it is, in poverty, to become degraded. One who is left to depend entirely upon his own resources, must therefore accustom himself not to fear poverty; he must even know how to make it a source of amusement. I have told you how it distressed me to be poor in a great city. There, among temptations of every kind, such a position is very dangerous to a man who is young and vigorous, and who has known what it is to be carried away by passion. Here, on the contrary, on my travels, that is to say, at liberty, and protected by an incognito which will allow me to-morrow to assume a respectable position in society, I feel as gay as a school-boy in vacation; and I confess that I am in no haste to assume again the chains of constraint and the annoyances of conventionality.”

“After all, I understand it,” said the doctor. “My imagination is not duller than other people’s; and I can easily conceive that there is a romantic pleasure in such a wandering, careless life. Yet you are fond of society. It was not for the sake of investigating the frozen mountains at midnight that you borrowed my dress suit.”

At this moment the door opened, and Ulphilas, to whom M. Goefle had no doubt given orders, came to say that the horse and sleigh were ready. Ulph seemed quite sober.

“What!” cried the doctor with surprise, “what time is it? Noon? It is impossible! That old clock has gone crazy! But no,” he continued, looking at his watch, “it is noon, really; and I must go and consult with the baron over the great lawsuit, on account of which I have come here. It surprises me, by the way, since he knows I am here, that he should not have thought fit to send before now and inquire after me!”

“But his lordship, the baron, did send,” said Ulph; “did I not tell you, M. Goefle?”

“Not at all.”

“He sent an hour ago, to say that he was ill last night, or that he would have come himself--”

“Here? You exaggerate the baron’s politeness, my dear Ulph. The baron never comes to Stollborg!”

“Very seldom, Monsieur Goefle; but--”

“Well, well! And father Stenson--is there no way of seeing him? I must make the good old gentleman a little visit before I go over to the chateau. Is he as deaf as ever?”

“A great deal more so, Monsieur Goefle; he will not hear a single word you say.”

“Well, then, I will talk by signs.”

“But, Monsieur Goefle, the fact is my uncle don’t know you are here.”

“Ah, he doesn’t? Well, he will find it out.”

“He will scold me terribly for not having told him, and for having allowed you--”

“To do what? To lodge in this room, I suppose? Very well; tell him that I took possession without asking your permission.”

“Only imagine,” added M. Goefle, in French, to Christian, “that we are here unlawfully, and without the knowledge of M. Stenson, the overseer of the old chateau. And another very strange thing is, that the said Monsieur Sten, as well as his estimable nephew here present, are so convinced that the old ruin is haunted by unhappy and malevolent spirits, that they are very reluctant to live here at all.”

As he said this, M. Goefle’s smiling face became serious all at once, as if, though in the habit of laughing at such things, he really was reproaching himself for doing so; and he abruptly asked Christian if he believed in apparitions.

“Yes--in hallucinations,” replied Christian, without hesitation.

“Ah! Have you ever seen any, then?”

“Sometimes--in a fever, or under some powerful mental preoccupation. In the latter case they were not so distinct as in the fever, and I could see that it was an illusion; but the appearances made a sufficient impression upon me to trouble me a good deal.”

“Just so--exactly so!” cried M. Goefle. “Well, only imagine--but I’ll tell you this evening; there’s no time now. I must go, my friend; I shall go and see the baron. He will perhaps detain me to dinner--at two o’clock. But in any event I will return as soon as possible. Ah, by the way--will you do me a service during my absence?”

“Two--three, if you wish, Monsieur Goefle; what is it?”

“To take my valet-de-chambre up out of his bed.”

“To wake him, you mean?”

“No, no! To take him up, to put on his clothes, button his gaiters, put him into his breeches; they are very tight, and he is not strong enough--”

“Oh, I understand; some old servant--an old friend, ill, or infirm?”

“No, not exactly. Stay, here he is! What a miracle! He has dressed himself all alone! Very well done, Master Nils! Why, you are improving! Up at noon, and dressed yourself! Haven’t you fatigued yourself too much?”

“No, Monsieur Goefle,” said the child, with a triumphant air. “See, I have buttoned my gaiters nicely.”

“A little crooked; but it’s done, at any rate; and now I suppose you will go and rest yourself until night?”

“Oh no, Monsieur Goefle: I want something to eat; I am very hungry; it has kept me from sleeping well for an hour at least.”

“There,” said M. Goefle to Christian, “you see what manner of serving-man my housekeeper provided me with! At present, I shall leave him under your charge. Make him obey you, if you can; for my part, I have quite given up trying. Come, Ulph, go on; I’ll come after you. Well, what’s the matter? what is it?”

“They brought a letter for you a little while ago,” answered Ulphilas, whose ideas became more luminous in proportion as the sun ascended towards the zenith, “and I put it in my pocket, and had forgotten--”

“To give it to me? Too true! You see, Christian, how well you are waited upon at Stollborg.”

M. Goefle opened the letter, and read as follows, interrupting himself at every sentence to make comments in French:

“‘My dear advocate--’

“I know that handwriting! It’s the Countess Elveda! A great coquette. The Russian party in petticoats!

“‘Let me see you before any one else. I know the baron expects you at noon. Have the goodness to leave Stollborg a little early, and come to my room. I want to talk to you about some matters of importance--’

“Matters of importance! Some silly piece of wickedness, as black as charcoal, and consequently as plain to be seen as charcoal on snow! Faith, it’s too late! the time is past.”

“Certainly, the time is past,” observed Christian, “and what she wants to tell you is not worth the trouble of hearing.”

“Ah! ah! Then you know what it is?”

“Perfectly; I’ll tell you about it at once, and I’m not afraid that you will lend your influence to helping on a scheme as horrible as it is ridiculous. The countess wants to marry her pretty niece, Margaret, to the dead-and-alive old Baron Olaus.”

“Yes, I know that very well, and I have openly laughed at the idea. Marry such a beautiful May to such a pale December! One would have to be as much of a white-cap as the peak of Sylfiallet to think of such a thing!”

“Ah, I was sure you would feel so. Is it not abominable, Monsieur Goefle, to propose to sacrifice Margaret in such a way?--”

“Hallo! Margaret? Why, you and Margaret must be on very intimate terms?--”

“Very far from it. I have only seen her. She is charming.”

“She is so considered. But the countess--how the devil did you come to know her, and how did you learn about her private plans?”

“That is another story; I will tell you about it if you have time--”

“What? No, I have not; but here’s a postscript that I did not notice. I don’t understand it at all:

“‘I must compliment you upon your nephew’s fine figure and his wit.’

“My nephew! I have no nephew! Is the countess crazy?

“‘Nevertheless, his good manners failed him for once, and very reprehensibly. He really deserves to receive a severe reprimand from you for having been guilty of such rudeness! But I will talk it over with you, and try to make up for his foolishness--I almost wanted to say insolence.’

“Rudeness! Insolence! Monsieur my nephew seems to have been well occupied! But where the devil am I going to find the young gentleman, to give him his severe reprimand?”

“Oh, dear Monsieur Goefle!” said Christian, in a piteous tone, “you will not have to look very far. How is it you have not reflected that if I could obtain admission to the ball-room without my mask, last night, it cannot have been by the name of Christian Waldo?”

“I do not deny that! Then it was under the name of Goefle?”

“My invitation was in my pocket under that honorable name.”

“So, sir,” said M. Goefle, with severity, while his eyes sparkled with anger, “you don’t content yourself with carrying off other people’s toilet, from hair-powder down to shoe-soles inclusive, but you must also go so far as to take their names, and leave them to be responsible for the follies you may choose to commit. That is altogether beyond endurance!”

Here good-natured M. Goefle, in spite of himself, burst out laughing, at the absurd predicament of Christian Waldo. The handsome and passionate young man, who found it difficult to bear so direct a reproof, seemed tempted to make rather a sharp reply, and then his anger was increased by the conduct of the servants. On one side Ulph, perceiving from M. Goefle’s tone that he was angry, although he did not understand a word that he said, was unconsciously imitating his looks and gestures, while little Nils, quite as ignorant of the facts in question, placed himself opposite Christian, in a haughty and almost threatening attitude.

Provoked by these two absurd figures imitating and burlesquing M. Goefle, Christian was strongly tempted to knock down the man and kick the boy, but he knew perfectly well that he was in the wrong, and he was, moreover, much pained at having offended so kind and amiable a person as the doctor of laws. Indignation and repentance, therefore, were depicted alternately upon his expressive countenance, and with such vividness that the lawyer was quite disarmed. His laugh at once disarmed his two satellites, who began to laugh also with returning confidence, and went about their business, while Christian gave M. Goefle a brief account of his defiance of the baron, which the Countess Elveda called rude and insolent, but for which, in his opinion, he was not at all to blame. M. Goefle, pressed as he was for time, listened attentively, and when he had finished, said:

“Assuredly, my dear boy, you have done nothing to dishonor the name of Goefle; on the contrary, your conduct was that of a gentleman, but you have none the less placed me in a cruel embarrassment. Whether or not Baron Olaus remembers his epileptic attack--for which, it seems, he is indebted to you--he will not forget, you may rest assured, that you have offended him. As you have been told, he is a man who never forgets anything, and you will do well to disappear at once in your character of Goefle, since Goefle you have chosen to become. Do not quit this chamber without being masked; become Christian Waldo again, and you have nothing to fear.”

“But pray tell me what should I have to fear from the baron, even if I should present myself to him with my face uncovered? Is he actually capable of having me assassinated?”

“I know nothing about that, Christian; I swear to you, upon my honor, nothing at all; you may confidently believe me on this point. If, in my business relations with him, I had gathered the least proof of the acts he is charged with, those relations would be discontinued. I am very indifferent to lucrative patronage, and I should tell my client some very plain truths, whether it did him any good or not. Nevertheless, there are some reports so well authenticated, and there are so many cases where misfortunes have occurred to persons who have opposed the baron, that I have sometimes asked myself if he had not the evil eye--the _jettatura_, as you call it in Italy. At any rate, not to bring any unnecessary bad luck upon myself, please allow me to report that my nephew is absent; that he started this very morning on a distant journey.”

“You may rely upon my absolute prudence, since I have been the means of exposing you to a risk. I will not leave the room without being masked, or so disguised that no one shall recognize me for the rather too gallant and chivalrous stranger who danced at the ball last night.”

M. Goefle and Christian Waldo shook hands upon this agreement. Nils, whose services had been confined to eating his breakfast during the conversation, was now well wrapped up in furs by his master, who was obliged to lift him upon the driver’s seat of the sleigh, and to place the reins and whip in his hands. Once seated, however, he drove off like an arrow, and descended the steep slope of the rock with skill and confidence. To drive a horse was the one thing that he knew how to do, and did without murmuring.

As for Ulph, he proceeded to make up the bed in which Nils had slept, for Christian, and to prepare the sofa, which was quite large enough to be comfortable, for the child, as M. Goefle had directed before his departure. Then he went to wait upon his uncle, but always discreet in concealing his disobedience, he did not say a single word about the presence of visitors in the donjon.

VII.

THE reader has perhaps not forgotten that old Stenson lived in a pavilion at the end of the small second court, which, together with the outer enclosure, which was somewhat larger, and the buildings adjoining, composed the dilapidated manor of Stollborg. There was a legend connected with the original erection of this ancient castle. At the time of the first introduction of Christianity into Sweden, it was said to have grown out of the rock in one night, in consequence of a vow of the pagan castellan, whose house (then built of wood) had nearly been blown off into the lake by an autumnal gale, and who had thereupon promised to embrace the new religion, if heaven would protect him securely from the wind. The roof of the house had already been carried away, but scarcely had he pronounced his vow, when a granite tower arose, as if by enchantment, from the rock. The castellan was forthwith baptized, and no hurricane could ever again harm his strongly and solidly-built habitation.

Notwithstanding this veracious history, the antiquaries of the country have the hardihood to assert that the square tower of Stollborg dates no further back than to the reign of King Birger, that is to the fourteenth century. However that may be, the chateau and its small domain, in the fifteenth century, became the property of a brave gentleman of the name of Waldemora. In the seventeenth century, Olaf de Waldemora became a favorite of Queen Christina, who, by arbitrarily alienating portions of the crown domains, conferred upon him considerable landed estates in this part of Dalecarlia. History does not name this Waldemora as a lover of the fantastic inheritrix of Gustavus Adolphus. Possibly, in some strait for money, the queen may have sold him these valuable estates at a low price. It is certain that at the reduction of 1680, when the energetic Charles XI. revised the titles of all grants of land, and reunited to the crown domain all that had been unlawfully alienated by his predecessors--a terrible but salutary measure, to which Sweden owes the endowment of her universities, schools, and magistracy, the creation of the post-office, the army _indelta_, and other benefactions, for which the “old caps” had hardly forgiven the crown at the time of our story--at this time the titles of the Baron de Waldemora were found valid; he retained the great estates which he had inherited from his grandfather, and completed the embellishments of the new chateau, built by the latter upon the shore of the lake, and called by his name.

One tower was all that remained standing of the old family chateau. This tower appeared to be extremely lofty, in consequence of the great substructure of masonry built up to its base from the very edge of the water, but it was in fact but two stories high, and contained only the bear-room and the guard-room, which were on the ground-floor, almost on a level with the court, and two or three chambers above, where for twenty years, that is, ever since the door on the staircase had been built up, no person had entered. The rest of the manor had been rebuilt several times, and formed, what is called in Norway, a _gaard_; or, in other words, an assembly of several families living in a community. Dwelling-rooms, kitchens, dining-rooms, stables, and store-rooms, in such communities, instead of being brought together as much as possible under one roof, as is the common practice, form separate buildings, each with a roof of its own; so that altogether they present the aspect of a numerous group of small houses entirely distinct from each other. Many customs prevail equally in Sweden and Norway, especially along the mountainous frontier of Dalecarlia. At the period when Stollborg, deserted for the new chateau, became a mere farmstead, there were several _gaards_, similar to the one we have described, scattered through the country. As is commonly the case all over Sweden, and in all countries where they build in wood, these premises had often caught fire, and the more ancient of the little edifices still showed traces of it. Their charred ridge-poles and warped roofs were sharply defined, like black spectres, upon the white background of the mountain.

The court, surrounded by its mossy shed, which gave a unity--such as it was--to all these different buildings, and from whose eaves hung a glittering fringe of icy stalactites, thus presented the appearance of a group of abandoned Swiss chalets. The farm establishment had long ago been transferred elsewhere, and the whole manor had been left under the charge of Stenson, who no longer had any repairs made upon the worthless houses, which were now only used to store fodder and dry vegetables. The rough flags of the court were furrowed in all directions by a thousand irregular little hollows, ploughed by the violence of currents in thaws; not one of the doors was on its hinges, and it seemed as if, unless prevented by some vow as efficacious as that of the first castellan, the least gust of the winds of spring or fall would sweep the ruinous structures off into the lake.

The second court, which was in the rear of this one, was a modern addition, much less picturesque, but infinitely more comfortable. It had been built by the Baron Olaus de Waldemora at the time when he inherited the property of his brother Adelstan. He caused this second small _gaard_ to be erected for his faithful Stenson, so as to prevent the latter, who had a horror of the place, from going to live elsewhere. This addition consisted of another group of buildings, lower than the first, and upon the opposite slope of the rock. Their steep roofs rested at the back against the solid rock itself, and were constructed in the singular manner usual in that country, with a layer of pine logs well caulked with moss, covered with strips of birch-bark, over which is laid finally a bed of earth turfed on the top. This turf, on the roofs of rustic cottages in Sweden, is very carefully tended, as is well known, and is sometimes laid out like a garden with flowers and shrubs. The grass upon them is very thick and rich, and the cattle find it their choicest pasturage.

It was in this portion of the old manor, called especially the _gaard_, while the other was called the court, that Stenson had lived for twenty years. Of late, he had become so old and feeble that he hardly ever left his own house, which was well warmed, very neatly furnished, and painted on the outside of an iron-rust red. Here he was certainly very conveniently situated. His dwelling-rooms were separate from his nephew’s lodging, and he had a kitchen in one small edifice, and a dairy in another. This only served, however, to render the existence of the mysterious old man more monotonous and melancholy. It was observed, or at least it had been observed when the house was built, how careful he had been to have all the doors and windows looking away from the tower. The only communication between the two buildings was a small side-door, and to reach Stenson’s pavilion it was necessary to go through a narrow zigzag passage. It looked as if he had been afraid to have a door opening directly towards the tower, lest he should see it. But he may have barricaded himself in this way merely as a precaution against the west wind, which blew from that direction.

As if in confirmation of the reports current about him, it was extremely rare for Stenson to quit his house, unless to enjoy a little sunshine in the small orchard at the water’s edge. Even here he always turned his back to the tower as he walked, and when the declining sun threw the slender shadow of the weathercock upon his alleys, it was said that he would leave them and flee precipitately into his house, as if he were filled with horror and pain by this ill-omened shade. The free-thinkers of the new chateau--a major-domo and footmen of the modern sort--attributed his peculiarities to the excessive caution and timidity, carried almost to monomania, of a frail and sickly old man; but Ulphilas and his companions regarded them as the irrefragable proof that the gloomy old castle was haunted by evil spirits and frightful spectres. Never, for twenty years, they said, had Stenson crossed the court and entered the western gate. Whenever business called him to the new chateau, he went by way of the little orchard, at whose base his own boat used to lie in the summer.

The presence of the baron at the new chateau--his usual residence when he was not attending to his duties as a member of the Stendœrne, or Diet--made no changes in Stenson’s daily life; but still Ulphilas had for some days observed that his uncle was singularly agitated. He asked questions concerning the donjon, as if he was solicitous about the preservation of this accursed old giant. He inquired of Ulph whether he went there from time to time to ventilate the bear-room, at what hours his visits were made, and whether he had seen anything remarkable there. To-day, Ulph, not without remorse, but without hesitation, told him a lie; he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders as a sign that he had seen nothing new. In fact, Ulph had strong reasons for hoping that Stenson, who was confined to his room by the cold, would not learn anything about what had happened; and he had heard the rattling of certain crowns intended for him, in the pocket of M. Goefle, without seeing any signs that the old vaults of Stollborg proposed to crumble with indignation for so small a matter. Without being greedy, Ulph did not dislike making a little money, and perhaps he was beginning to feel somewhat reconciled to the donjon.