The Wonderful Adventures of Nils - Selma Lagerloef
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[Transcriber's note: The inconsistent orthography of the original is
retained in this etext.]
THE WONDERFUL ADVENTURES of NILS
by
SELMA LAGERLOeF
TRANSLATED FROM THE SWEDISH
BY VELMA SWANSTON HOWARD
CONTENTS
The Boy
Akka from Kebnekaise
The Wonderful Journey of Nils
Glimminge Castle
The Great Crane Dance on Kullaberg
In Rainy Weather
The Stairway with the Three Steps
By Ronneby River
Karlskrona
The Trip to Oeland
Oeland's Southern Point
The Big Butterfly
Little Karl's Island
Two Cities
The Legend of Smaland
The Crows
The Old Peasant Woman
From Taberg to Huskvarna
The Big Bird Lake
Ulvasa-Lady
The Homespun Cloth
The Story of Karr and Grayskin
The Wind Witch
The Breaking Up of the Ice
Thumbietot and the Bears
The Flood
Dunfin
Stockholm
Gorgo the Eagle
On Over Gaestrikland
A Day in Haelsingland
In Medelpad
A Morning in Angermanland
Westbottom and Lapland
Osa, the Goose Girl, and Little Mats
With the Laplanders
Homeward Bound
Legends from Haerjedalen
Vermland and Dalsland
The Treasure on the Island
The Journey to Vemminghoeg
Home at Last
The Parting with the Wild Geese
_Some of the purely geographical matter in the Swedish original of the
"Further Adventures of Nils" has been eliminated from the English
version.
The author has rendered valuable assistance in cutting certain chapters
and abridging others. Also, with the author's approval, cuts have been
made where the descriptive matter was merely of local interest.
But the story itself is intact.
V.S.H_.
THE BOY
THE ELF
_Sunday, March twentieth_.
Once there was a boy. He was--let us say--something like fourteen years
old; long and loose-jointed and towheaded. He wasn't good for much, that
boy. His chief delight was to eat and sleep; and after that--he liked
best to make mischief.
It was a Sunday morning and the boy's parents were getting ready to go
to church. The boy sat on the edge of the table, in his shirt sleeves,
and thought how lucky it was that both father and mother were going
away, and the coast would be clear for a couple of hours. "Good! Now I
can take down pop's gun and fire off a shot, without anybody's meddling
interference," he said to himself.
But it was almost as if father should have guessed the boy's thoughts,
for just as he was on the threshold--ready to start--he stopped short,
and turned toward the boy. "Since you won't come to church with mother
and me," he said, "the least you can do, is to read the service at home.
Will you promise to do so?" "Yes," said the boy, "that I can do easy
enough." And he thought, of course, that he wouldn't read any more than
he felt like reading.
The boy thought that never had he seen his mother so persistent. In a
second she was over by the shelf near the fireplace, and took down
Luther's Commentary and laid it on the table, in front of the
window--opened at the service for the day. She also opened the New
Testament, and placed it beside the Commentary. Finally, she drew up the
big arm-chair, which was bought at the parish auction the year before,
and which, as a rule, no one but father was permitted to occupy.
The boy sat thinking that his mother was giving herself altogether too
much trouble with this spread; for he had no intention of reading more
than a page or so. But now, for the second time, it was almost as if his
father were able to see right through him. He walked up to the boy, and
said in a severe tone: "Now, remember, that you are to read carefully!
For when we come back, I shall question you thoroughly; and if you have
skipped a single page, it will not go well with you."
"The service is fourteen and a half pages long," said his mother, just
as if she wanted to heap up the measure of his misfortune. "You'll have
to sit down and begin the reading at once, if you expect to get through
with it."
With that they departed. And as the boy stood in the doorway watching
them, he thought that he had been caught in a trap. "There they go
congratulating themselves, I suppose, in the belief that they've hit
upon something so good that I'll be forced to sit and hang over the
sermon the whole time that they are away," thought he.
But his father and mother were certainly not congratulating themselves
upon anything of the sort; but, on the contrary, they were very much
distressed. They were poor farmers, and their place was not much bigger
than a garden-plot. When they first moved there, the place couldn't feed
more than one pig and a pair of chickens; but they were uncommonly
industrious and capable folk--and now they had both cows and geese.
Things had turned out very well for them; and they would have gone to
church that beautiful morning--satisfied and happy--if they hadn't had
their son to think of. Father complained that he was dull and lazy; he
had not cared to learn anything at school, and he was such an all-round
good-for-nothing, that he could barely be made to tend geese. Mother did
not deny that this was true; but she was most distressed because he was
wild and bad; cruel to animals, and ill-willed toward human beings. "May
God soften his hard heart, and give him a better disposition!" said the
mother, "or else he will be a misfortune, both to himself and to us."
The boy stood for a long time and pondered whether he should read the
service or not. Finally, he came to the conclusion that, this time, it
was best to be obedient. He seated himself in the easy chair, and began
to read. But when he had been rattling away in an undertone for a little
while, this mumbling seemed to have a soothing effect upon him--and he
began to nod.
It was the most beautiful weather outside! It was only the twentieth of
March; but the boy lived in West Vemminghoeg Township, down in Southern
Skane, where the spring was already in full swing. It was not as yet
green, but it was fresh and budding. There was water in all the
trenches, and the colt's-foot on the edge of the ditch was in bloom. All
the weeds that grew in among the stones were brown and shiny. The
beech-woods in the distance seemed to swell and grow thicker with every
second. The skies were high--and a clear blue. The cottage door stood
ajar, and the lark's trill could be heard in the room. The hens and
geese pattered about in the yard, and the cows, who felt the spring air
away in their stalls, lowed their approval every now and then.
The boy read and nodded and fought against drowsiness. "No! I don't want
to fall asleep," thought he, "for then I'll not get through with this
thing the whole forenoon."
But--somehow--he fell asleep.
He did not know whether he had slept a short while, or a long while; but
he was awakened by hearing a slight noise back of him.
On the window-sill, facing the boy, stood a small looking-glass; and
almost the entire cottage could be seen in this. As the boy raised his
head, he happened to look in the glass; and then he saw that the cover
to his mother's chest had been opened.
His mother owned a great, heavy, iron-bound oak chest, which she
permitted no one but herself to open. Here she treasured all the things
she had inherited from her mother, and of these she was especially
careful. Here lay a couple of old-time peasant dresses, of red homespun
cloth, with short bodice and plaited shirt, and a pearl-bedecked breast
pin. There were starched white-linen head-dresses, and heavy silver
ornaments and chains. Folks don't care to go about dressed like that in
these days, and several times his mother had thought of getting rid of
the old things; but somehow, she hadn't had the heart to do it.
Now the boy saw distinctly--in the glass--that the chest-lid was open.
He could not understand how this had happened, for his mother had closed
the chest before she went away. She never would have left that precious
chest open when he was at home, alone.
He became low-spirited and apprehensive. He was afraid that a thief had
sneaked his way into the cottage. He didn't dare to move; but sat still
and stared into the looking-glass.
While he sat there and waited for the thief to make his appearance, he
began to wonder what that dark shadow was which fell across the edge of
the chest. He looked and looked--and did not want to believe his eyes.
But the thing, which at first seemed shadowy, became more and more
clear to him; and soon he saw that it was something real. It was no less
a thing than an elf who sat there--astride the edge of the chest!
To be sure, the boy had heard stories about elves, but he had never
dreamed that they were such tiny creatures. He was no taller than a
hand's breadth--this one, who sat on the edge of the chest. He had an
old, wrinkled and beardless face, and was dressed in a black frock coat,
knee-breeches and a broad-brimmed black hat. He was very trim and smart,
with his white laces about the throat and wrist-bands, his buckled
shoes, and the bows on his garters. He had taken from the chest an
embroidered piece, and sat and looked at the old-fashioned handiwork
with such an air of veneration, that he did not observe the boy had
awakened.
The boy was somewhat surprised to see the elf, but, on the other hand,
he was not particularly frightened. It was impossible to be afraid of
one who was so little. And since the elf was so absorbed in his own
thoughts that he neither saw nor heard, the boy thought that it would be
great fun to play a trick on him; to push him over into the chest and
shut the lid on him, or something of that kind.
But the boy was not so courageous that he dared to touch the elf with
his hands, instead he looked around the room for something to poke him
with. He let his gaze wander from the sofa to the leaf-table; from the
leaf-table to the fireplace. He looked at the kettles, then at the
coffee-urn, which stood on a shelf, near the fireplace; on the water
bucket near the door; and on the spoons and knives and forks and saucers
and plates, which could be seen through the half-open cupboard door. He
looked at his father's gun, which hung on the wall, beside the portrait
of the Danish royal family, and on the geraniums and fuchsias, which
blossomed in the window. And last, he caught sight of an old
butterfly-snare that hung on the window frame. He had hardly set eyes on
that butterfly-snare, before he reached over and snatched it and jumped
up and swung it alongside the edge of the chest. He was himself
astonished at the luck he had. He hardly knew how he had managed it--but
he had actually snared the elf. The poor little chap lay, head downward,
in the bottom of the long snare, and could not free himself.
The first moment the boy hadn't the least idea what he should do with
his prize. He was only particular to swing the snare backward and
forward; to prevent the elf from getting a foothold and clambering up.
The elf began to speak, and begged, oh! so pitifully, for his freedom.
He had brought them good luck--these many years--he said, and deserved
better treatment. Now, if the boy would set him free, he would give him
an old coin, a silver spoon, and a gold penny, as big as the case on his
father's silver watch.
The boy didn't think that this was much of an offer; but it so
happened--that after he had gotten the elf in his power, he was afraid
of him. He felt that he had entered into an agreement with something
weird and uncanny; something which did not belong to his world, and he
was only too glad to get rid of the horrid thing.
For this reason he agreed at once to the bargain, and held the snare
still, so the elf could crawl out of it. But when the elf was almost out
of the snare, the boy happened to think that he ought to have bargained
for large estates, and all sorts of good things. He should at least have
made this stipulation: that the elf must conjure the sermon into his
head. "What a fool I was to let him go!" thought he, and began to shake
the snare violently, so the elf would tumble down again.
But the instant the boy did this, he received such a stinging box on the
ear, that he thought his head would fly in pieces. He was dashed--first
against one wall, then against the other; he sank to the floor, and lay
there--senseless.
When he awoke, he was alone in the cottage. The chest-lid was down, and
the butterfly-snare hung in its usual place by the window. If he had not
felt how the right cheek burned, from that box on the ear, he would have
been tempted to believe the whole thing had been a dream. "At any rate,
father and mother will be sure to insist that it was nothing else,"
thought he. "They are not likely to make any allowances for that old
sermon, on account of the elf. It's best for me to get at that reading
again," thought he.
But as he walked toward the table, he noticed something remarkable. It
couldn't be possible that the cottage had grown. But why was he obliged
to take so many more steps than usual to get to the table? And what was
the matter with the chair? It looked no bigger than it did a while ago;
but now he had to step on the rung first, and then clamber up in order
to reach the seat. It was the same thing with the table. He could not
look over the top without climbing to the arm of the chair.
"What in all the world is this?" said the boy. "I believe the elf has
bewitched both the armchair and the table--and the whole cottage."
The Commentary lay on the table and, to all appearances, it was not
changed; but there must have been something queer about that too, for he
could not manage to read a single word of it, without actually standing
right in the book itself.
He read a couple of lines, and then he chanced to look up. With that,
his glance fell on the looking-glass; and then he cried aloud: "Look!
There's another one!"
For in the glass he saw plainly a little, little creature who was
dressed in a hood and leather breeches.
"Why, that one is dressed exactly like me!" said the boy, and clasped
his hands in astonishment. But then he saw that the thing in the mirror
did the same thing. Then he began to pull his hair and pinch his arms
and swing round; and instantly he did the same thing after him; he, who
was seen in the mirror.
The boy ran around the glass several times, to see if there wasn't a
little man hidden behind it, but he found no one there; and then he
began to shake with terror. For now he understood that the elf had
bewitched him, and that the creature whose image he saw in the
glass--was he, himself.
THE WILD GEESE
The boy simply could not make himself believe that he had been
transformed into an elf. "It can't be anything but a dream--a queer
fancy," thought he. "If I wait a few moments, I'll surely be turned back
into a human being again."
He placed himself before the glass and closed his eyes. He opened them
again after a couple of minutes, and then expected to find that it had
all passed over--but it hadn't. He was--and remained--just as little. In
other respects, he was the same as before. The thin, straw-coloured
hair; the freckles across his nose; the patches on his leather breeches
and the darns on his stockings, were all like themselves, with this
exception--that they had become diminished.
No, it would do no good for him to stand still and wait, of this he was
certain. He must try something else. And he thought the wisest thing
that he could do was to try and find the elf, and make his peace with
him.
And while he sought, he cried and prayed and promised everything he
could think of. Nevermore would he break his word to anyone; never again
would he be naughty; and never, never would he fall asleep again over
the sermon. If he might only be a human being once more, he would be
such a good and helpful and obedient boy. But no matter how much he
promised--it did not help him the least little bit.
Suddenly he remembered that he had heard his mother say, all the tiny
folk made their home in the cowsheds; and, at once, he concluded to go
there, and see if he couldn't find the elf. It was a lucky thing that
the cottage-door stood partly open, for he never could have reached the
bolt and opened it; but now he slipped through without any difficulty.
When he came out in the hallway, he looked around for his wooden shoes;
for in the house, to be sure, he had gone about in his stocking-feet. He
wondered how he should manage with these big, clumsy wooden shoes; but
just then, he saw a pair of tiny shoes on the doorstep. When he observed
that the elf had been so thoughtful that he had also bewitched the
wooden shoes, he was even more troubled. It was evidently his intention
that this affliction should last a long time.
On the wooden board-walk in front of the cottage, hopped a gray sparrow.
He had hardly set eyes on the boy before he called out: "Teetee! Teetee!
Look at Nils goosey-boy! Look at Thumbietot! Look at Nils Holgersson
Thumbietot!"
Instantly, both the geese and the chickens turned and stared at the boy;
and then they set up a fearful cackling. "Cock-el-i-coo," crowed the
rooster, "good enough for him! Cock-el-i-coo, he has pulled my comb."
"Ka, ka, kada, serves him right!" cried the hens; and with that they
kept up a continuous cackle. The geese got together in a tight group,
stuck their heads together and asked: "Who can have done this? Who can
have done this?"
But the strangest thing of all was, that the boy understood what they
said. He was so astonished, that he stood there as if rooted to the
doorstep, and listened. "It must be because I am changed into an elf,"
said he. "This is probably why I understand bird-talk."
He thought it was unbearable that the hens would not stop saying that it
served him right. He threw a stone at them and shouted:
"Shut up, you pack!"
But it hadn't occurred to him before, that he was no longer the sort of
boy the hens need fear. The whole henyard made a rush for him, and
formed a ring around him; then they all cried at once: "Ka, ka, kada,
served you right! Ka, ka, kada, served you right!"
The boy tried to get away, but the chickens ran after him and screamed,
until he thought he'd lose his hearing. It is more than likely that he
never could have gotten away from them, if the house cat hadn't come
along just then. As soon as the chickens saw the cat, they quieted down
and pretended to be thinking of nothing else than just to scratch in the
earth for worms.
Immediately the boy ran up to the cat. "You dear pussy!" said he, "you
must know all the corners and hiding places about here? You'll be a good
little kitty and tell me where I can find the elf."
The cat did not reply at once. He seated himself, curled his tail into
a graceful ring around his paws--and stared at the boy. It was a large
black cat with one white spot on his chest. His fur lay sleek and soft,
and shone in the sunlight. The claws were drawn in, and the eyes were a
dull gray, with just a little narrow dark streak down the centre. The
cat looked thoroughly good-natured and inoffensive.
"I know well enough where the elf lives," he said in a soft voice, "but
that doesn't say that I'm going to tell _you_ about it."
"Dear pussy, you must tell me where the elf lives!" said the boy. "Can't
you see how he has bewitched me?"
The cat opened his eyes a little, so that the green wickedness began to
shine forth. He spun round and purred with satisfaction before he
replied. "Shall I perhaps help you because you have so often grabbed me
by the tail?" he said at last.
Then the boy was furious and forgot entirely how little and helpless he
was now. "Oh! I can pull your tail again, I can," said he, and ran
toward the cat.
The next instant the cat was so changed that the boy could scarcely
believe it was the same animal. Every separate hair on his body stood on
end. The back was bent; the legs had become elongated; the claws scraped
the ground; the tail had grown thick and short; the ears were laid back;
the mouth was frothy; and the eyes were wide open and glistened like
sparks of red fire.
The boy didn't want to let himself be scared by a cat, and he took a
step forward. Then the cat made one spring and landed right on the boy;
knocked him down and stood over him--his forepaws on his chest, and his
jaws wide apart--over his throat.
The boy felt how the sharp claws sank through his vest and shirt and
into his skin; and how the sharp eye-teeth tickled his throat. He
shrieked for help, as loudly as he could, but no one came. He thought
surely that his last hour had come. Then he felt that the cat drew in
his claws and let go the hold on his throat.
"There!" he said, "that will do now. I'll let you go this time, for my
mistress's sake. I only wanted you to know which one of us two has the
power now."
With that the cat walked away--looking as smooth and pious as he did
when he first appeared on the scene. The boy was so crestfallen that he
didn't say a word, but only hurried to the cowhouse to look for the elf.
There were not more than three cows, all told. But when the boy came in,
there was such a bellowing and such a kick-up, that one might easily
have believed that there were at least thirty.
"Moo, moo, moo," bellowed Mayrose. "It is well there is such a thing as
justice in this world."
"Moo, moo, moo," sang the three of them in unison. He couldn't hear what
they said, for each one tried to out-bellow the others.
The boy wanted to ask after the elf, but he couldn't make himself heard
because the cows were in full uproar. They carried on as they used to do
when he let a strange dog in on them. They kicked with their hind legs,
shook their necks, stretched their heads, and measured the distance with
their horns.
"Come here, you!" said Mayrose, "and you'll get a kick that you won't
forget in a hurry!"
"Come here," said Gold Lily, "and you shall dance on my horns!"
"Come here, and you shall taste how it felt when you threw your wooden
shoes at me, as you did last summer!" bawled Star.
"Come here, and you shall be repaid for that wasp you let loose in my
ear!" growled Gold Lily.
Mayrose was the oldest and the wisest of them, and she was the very
maddest. "Come here!" said she, "that I may pay you back for the many
times that you have jerked the milk pail away from your mother; and for
all the snares you laid for her, when she came carrying the milk pails;
and for all the tears when she has stood here and wept over you!"
The boy wanted to tell them how he regretted that he had been unkind to
them; and that never, never--from now on--should he be anything but
good, if they would only tell him where the elf was. But the cows didn't
listen to him. They made such a racket that he began to fear one of them
would succeed in breaking loose; and he thought that the best thing for
him to do was to go quietly away from the cowhouse.
When he came out, he was thoroughly disheartened. He could understand
that no one on the place wanted to help him find the elf. And little
good would it do him, probably, if the elf were found.
He crawled up on the broad hedge which fenced in the farm, and which was
overgrown with briers and lichen. There he sat down to think about how
it would go with him, if he never became a human being again. When
father and mother came home from church, there would be a surprise for
them. Yes, a surprise--it would be all over the land; and people would
come flocking from East Vemminghoeg, and from Torp, and from Skerup. The
whole Vemminghoeg township would come to stare at him. Perhaps father and
mother would take him with them, and show him at the market place in
Kivik.
No, that was too horrible to think about. He would rather that no human
being should ever see him again.
His unhappiness was simply frightful! No one in all the world was so
unhappy as he. He was no longer a human being--but a freak.
Little by little he began to comprehend what it meant--to be no longer
human. He was separated from everything now; he could no longer play
with other boys, he could not take charge of the farm after his parents
were gone; and certainly no girl would think of marrying _him_.
He sat and looked at his home. It was a little log house, which lay as
if it had been crushed down to earth, under the high, sloping roof. The
outhouses were also small; and the patches of ground were so narrow that
a horse could barely turn around on them. But little and poor though the
place was, it was much too good for him _now_. He couldn't ask for any
better place than a hole under the stable floor.
It was wondrously beautiful weather! It budded, and it rippled, and it
murmured, and it twittered--all around him. But he sat there with such a
heavy sorrow. He should never be happy any more about anything.
Never had he seen the skies as blue as they were to-day. Birds of
passage came on their travels. They came from foreign lands, and had
travelled over the East sea, by way of Smygahuk, and were now on their
way North. They were of many different kinds; but he was only familiar
with the wild geese, who came flying in two long rows, which met at an
angle.
Several flocks of wild geese had already flown by. They flew very high,
still he could hear how they shrieked: "To the hills! Now we're off to
the hills!"