Part 34

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.

XIII.

WHILE this despatch is speeding after the baron, we shall take the liberty of proceeding ourselves to Bœtsoi’s chalet, where the brave danneman wanted to carry Christian off with him with no other arms than a cord and an iron-shod stick.

“Wait!” cried the major; “our friend must be equipped and armed. Your boar-spear is not to be despised, Master Joë, but a good Norwegian cutlass will do more execution, and a good gun will not be superfluous.”

Yielding to the entreaties of the major and the lieutenant, Christian put on a reindeer skin coat and felt boots, the latter without either soles or seams, and having the advantage of never slipping on the ice, and of being impenetrable to the cold. Then, after arming and supplying him with powder and balls, Christian’s friends put a fur cap on his head, and proceeded to draw lots for their places in the hunt.

“I have number 1!” cried the major, in great exultation; “so it is I who am to yield my place to Christian, and to take my stand a hundred steps behind him; the lieutenant will be on my left, and the corporal on my right, at a distance, also, of a hundred steps on each side. Now then, start, and count your steps; when you have counted a hundred, make us a sign, and we will follow.”

Everything being thus regulated, the danneman and Christian began the march, and the others followed, observing the distances agreed upon. Christian was astonished to see them adopt this order of battle from the very moment of departure.

“Is the bear so near,” he asked of his guide, “that we should not have time enough ten times over to take our proper positions on approaching his den?”

“The _wicked one_ is very near,” replied the danneman. “No one of them has ever taken up his winter quarters before, so near my house. I was so far from suspecting his presence, that I have passed a dozen times almost over his hole, without supposing that I had such a handsome neighbor.”

“Our bear is handsome, then?”