Norse Tales and Sketches by Alexander Lange Kielland

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Karen came hurriedly in from the kitchen with her tray. She bent her
head, so that one could not see her face, as she hastened from guest to
guest.

She placed the roast hare right in front of the two fish-buyers,
whereupon she took a bottle of soda-water to the two commercial
travellers, who sat in the inner room. Then she gave the anxious
countryman a tallow candle, and, as she slipped out again, she put
sixty-three oere into the hand of the stranger by the stove.

The innkeeper's wife was in utter despair. She had, indeed, quite
unexpectedly found her keys, but lost the lawyer's letter immediately
after, and now the whole inn was in the most frightful commotion. None
had got what they wanted--all were shouting together. The commercial
men kept continuously ringing the table bell; the fish-buyers went into
fits of laughter over the roast hare, which lay straddling on the dish
before them. But the anxious countryman tapped Madame on the shoulder
with his tallow candle; he trembled for his sixty-three oere. And, amid
all this hopeless confusion, Karen had disappeared without leaving a
trace.

Anders the post-boy sat on the box; the innkeeper's boy stood ready to
open the gates; the two passengers inside the coach became impatient, as
did also the horses--although they had nothing to look forward to--and
the wind rustled and whistled through the stable.

At length came the guard, whom they awaited. He carried his large cloak
over his arm, as he walked up to the coach and made a little excuse for
having kept the party waiting. The light of the lantern shone upon his
face; he looked very warm, and smilingly said as much, as he drew on his
cloak and climbed up beside the driver.

The gates were opened, and the coach rumbled away. Anders let the horses
go gently, for now there was no hurry. Now and then he stole a glance at
the guard by his side; he was still sitting smiling to himself, and
letting the wind ruffle his hair.

Anders the post-boy also smiled in his peculiar way. He began to
understand.

The wind followed the coach until the road turned; thereupon it again
swept over the plain, and whistled and sighed long and strangely among
the dry clusters of heather. The fox lay at his post; everything was
calculated to a nicety; the hare must soon be there.

In the inn Karen had at last reappeared, and the confusion had gradually
subsided. The anxious countryman had got quit of his candle and received
his sixty-three oere, and the commercial gentlemen had set to work upon
the roast hare.

Madame whined a little, but she never scolded Karen; there was not a
person in the world who could scold Karen.

Quietly and without haste Karen again walked to and fro, and the air of
peaceful comfort that always followed her once more overspread the snug,
half-dark parlour. But the two fish-buyers, who had had both one and two
cognacs with their coffee, were quite taken up with her. She had got
some colour in her cheeks, and wore a little half-hidden gleam of a
smile, and when she once happened to raise her eyes, a thrill shot
through their whole frames.

But when she felt their eyes following her, she went into the room where
the commercial men sat dining, and began to polish some teaspoons at the
sideboard.

'Did you notice the mail-guard?' asked one of the travellers.

'No, not particularly; I only got a glimpse of him. I think he went out
again directly,' replied the other, with his mouth full of food.

'He's a devilish fine fellow! Why, I danced at his wedding.'

'Indeed. So he is married?'

'Yes; his wife lives in Lemvig; they have at least two children. She was
a daughter of the innkeeper of Ulstrop, and I arrived there on the very
evening of the wedding. It was a jolly night, you may be sure.'

Karen dropped the teaspoons and went out. She did not hear them calling
to her from the parlour. She walked across the courtyard to her chamber,
closed the door, and began half-unconsciously to arrange the bedclothes.
Her eyes stood rigid in the darkness; she pressed her hands to her head,
to her breast; she moaned; she did not understand--she did not
understand--

But when she heard Madame calling so piteously, 'Karen, Karen!' she
sprang up, rushed out of the yard, round the back of the house, out--out
upon the heath.

In the twilight the little grassy strip wound in and out among the
heather, as if it were a path; but it was no path--no one must believe
it to be a path--for it led to the very brink of the great turf-pit.

The hare started up; it had heard a splash. It dashed off with long
leaps, as if mad; now contracted, with legs under body and back arched,
now drawn out to an incredible length, like a flying accordion, it
bounded away over the heather.

The fox put up its pointed nose, and stared in amazement after the hare.
It had not heard any splash. For, according to all the rules of art, it
had come creeping along the bottom of a deep ditch; and, as it was not
conscious of having made any mistake, it could not understand the
strange conduct of the hare.

Long it stood, with its head up, its hindquarters lowered, and its great
bushy tail hidden in the heather; and it began to wonder whether the
hares were getting wiser or the foxes getting more foolish.

But when the west wind had travelled a long way it became a north wind,
then an east wind, then a south wind, and at last it again came over the
sea as a west wind, dashed in upon the downs, and sighed long and
strangely among the dry clusters of heather. But then a pair of
wondering gray eyes were lacking in Krarup Kro, and a blue serge dress
that had grown too tight. And the innkeeper's wife whined and whimpered
more than ever. She could not understand it--nobody could understand
it--except Anders the post-boy--and one beside.

But when old folks wished to give the young a really serious admonition,
they used to begin thus: 'There was once in Krarup Kro a girl named
Karen--

MY SISTER'S JOURNEY TO MODUM.

My sister was going to Modum. It was before the opening of the Drammen
Railway, and it was a dreadfully long carriole drive from Christiania to
Drammen.

But everything depended upon getting off--hyp--getting to Drammen--hyp,
hyp--in time to catch the train which left for Modum at two o'clock.
Hyp--oh, dear, if the train should be gone--to wait until next
day--alone--in Drammen!

My sister stimulated the post-boys with drink-money, and the horses with
small pokes of her umbrella; but both horses and post-boys were numerous
upon this route, and much time was lost at the stopping-places.

First, the luggage had to be transferred to the new carriole. There
were the big trunk and the little one, and the plaids with loosened
strap, the umbrella, the _en-tout-cas_, the bouquet, and the book.

Then there was paying, and reckoning, and changing; and the purse was
crammed so extraordinarily full that it would shower three-skilling
pieces, [Footnote: Skilling, a halfpenny.] or a shining half-dollar
would swing itself over the side, make a graceful curve, like a
skater, round the floor, and disappear behind the stove. It had to be
got out before it could be changed, and that nobody could do.

As soon as the fresh horses appeared in the yard, my sister would spring
resolutely out, and swing herself into the carriole.

'Thanks; I am ready now. Let us be off. Good-bye.'

Yes, then they would all come running after her--the umbrella, the
_en-tout-cas_, the plaids with loosened strap, the bouquet, and the
book, everything would be thrown into her lap, and she would hold on to
them until the next station was reached, while the station-master's
honest wife stood and feebly waved the young lady's pocket-handkerchief,
in a manner which could not possibly attract her attention.

Although she thus lost no time, the drive was, nevertheless, extremely
trying, and it was a great relief to my sister when she at length
rattled down the hill from Gjelleboek, and saw Drammen extended below
her. There were not many minutes left.

At last she was down in the town. 'In Drammen, in Drammen!' muttered my
sister, beginning to triumph. Like a fire-engine she dashed along the
streets to the station. Everything was paid. She had only to jump out of
the carriole; but when she looked up at the station clock, the
minute-hand was just passing the number twelve.

Undismayed, my sister collected her knick-knacks and rushed into the
waiting-room, which was quite empty. But the young man who had sold the
tickets, and who was in the act of drawing down the panel, caught a
glimpse of this belated lady, and was good-natured enough to wait.

'A ticket--for Heaven's sake! A ticket for Drammen! What does it cost?'

'Where are you going, miss?' asked the good-natured young man.

'To Drammen--do you hear? But do make haste. I am sure the train will be
gone.'

'But, miss,' said the young man, with a modest smile, 'you _are_ in
Drammen.'

'Ah! I beg your pardon. Yes, so I am; it is to Modum, to Modum that I
want to go.'

She received her ticket, filled her lap with her things, and, purse in
mouth, hurried out upon the platform.

She was instantly seized by powerful hands, lifted off the ground, and
tenderly deposited in a _coupe_.

'Puff,' said the locomotive impatiently, beginning to strain at the
carriages.

My sister leant back on the velvet sofa, happy and triumphant; she had
been in time. Before her, upon the other sofa, she had all her dear
little things, which seemed to lie and smile at her--the bouquet and the
book, the _en-tout-cas_ and the umbrella, and the very plaids, with the
strap completely unfastened.

Then, as the train slowly began to glide out of the station, she heard
the footstep of a man--rap, rap--of a man running--rap, rap,
rap--running on the platform alongside the train; and although, of
course, it did not concern her, still she would see what he was running
for.

But no sooner did my sister's head become visible than the running man
waved his arms and cried:

'There she is, there she is--the young lady who came last! Where shall
we send your luggage?'

Then my sister cried in a loud and firm voice:

'To Drammen!'

And with these words she was whirled away.

LETTERS FROM MASTER-PILOT SEEHUS.

KRYDSVIG FARM, January 1, 1889.

MR. EDITOR,

Referring to our talk of last December, when I said I was not unwilling
to send you occasional letters, if anything important should happen, I
do not know of anything that I could think worthy of being published or
made public in your paper except the weather, which always and ever
gives cause for alternate praise and blame, when one is living, so to
speak, out among the sea's breakers, where there is no quietness to
expect on a winter's day, but storms and rough weather as we had in the
last Yule-nights, with a violent storm from the east and with such
tremendous gusts of wind that the pots and pans flew about like birds.
And there is much damage done by the east wind and nothing gained,
because it only drives wreckage out to sea. But it was not quite so bad
as it was in the great storms in the last days of November, which
culminated or reached their highest point on Monday, the 26th November,
when it was rougher than old folk can remember it to have ever been,
with such a tremendous sea that it seemed as if it would reach the
fields that we here at Krydsvig have owned from old times; it almost
touched the cowhouses. After that time we had light frosts with
changeable weather and a smoother sea, which was not covered, but richly
sown, with many sad relics of the storm, mostly deck cargo, which is not
so great a loss, as it is always lying, so to speak, upon expectancy or
adventure; and when it goes, it is a relief to the ship and a great and
especial blessing to these treeless coasts, particularly when it comes
ashore well split up and distributed, a few planks at each place, so
that the Lensmand [Footnote: Sheriff's officer.] cannot see any greater
accumulation at any one place than that he can, with a good conscience,
abandon an auction and let the folk keep what they have been lucky
enough to find or diligent enough to garner in from the sea in their
boats; but this time it did not repay the trouble, because of frost and
an easterly land-wind, which kept the wreck from land for some time. But
now the most of it has come in that is to come at this time, and it may
be long to another time, as we must hope, for the seaman's sake,
although I, for my part, have never been able to join with any
particular devotion in prayers and supplications that we may be free
from storms and foul weather; for our Lord has made the sea thus and not
otherwise, so that there must come storms and tumults in the atmosphere
of the air, and, as a consequence, towering billows. And it seems to me,
further, that we cannot decently turn to the Lord and ask Him to do
something over again or in a different way; but we can well wish each
other God's help and all good luck in danger, and especially good gear
for our own ones, who sail with wit and canniness, while the Englishman
is mostly a demon to sail and go with full steam on in fogs and driving
rain-storms, of which we can expect enough in Januarius month at the
beginning of the new year, which I hope may be a good year for these
coasts, with decent weather, as it may fall out, and something
respectable in the way of wreckage.

Yours very truly,
LAURITZ BOLDEMANN SEEHUS,
Late Master-Pilot.

KRYDSVIG, January 22, 1889.

MR. EDITOR,

I take up my pen to-day to inform you that I, the undersigned, address
you for the last time, as I will not write more because of my sore eyes,
which are not to be wondered at, after all that they have seen in bitter
weather and in a long life of trouble and hardship from my youth up,
mostly at sea in spray and driving snow-storms at the fishing, which is
all over and past, as everything old is past. But things new are coming
to the front, and here I sit alone like Job, though he, to be sure, had
some friends, but loneliness is a sore thing for old folk, and idleness
which they are not used to, so that the Sheriff might as well have given
me back my post as master-pilot on my return from America. But he would
not do it, because I was not cunning enough to agree with him, when he
did not understand anybody, but it is given out officially that I am too
old, and thus I sit here without having shaved for a week, because I am
angry and my hand trembles, but not owing to old age. And I don't think,
either, that anybody is much to be envied for having friends like Job's,
and I am not stricken with boils and sitting among potsherds, but am
quite hale and strong, if I am rather dried-up and stiff, but I would
undertake to dance a reel and a Hamburg schottische if I could only get
a girl with a fairly round waist to take hold of, but it seems to me
that they are shrinking in and becoming flatter than they were in my
young days; but then I think that it is surely the sore eyes that are
cheating me, for I have always held this belief, that girls are girls in
all times, but old folks should be quiet and mind what they understand,
which is nothing that relates to the young. But a man should not get
sour _in finem_, for all that, and I have found that it is a dangerous
thing to grow old, for this reason, that one becomes so surly before
one's time, and that is against my inner construction, and I have now
sat here awhile and gazed out on the sea through rain and mist, and then
I straightened my old back and spat out my quid, which in all truth
smacked more of the brass box than of tobacco, because it had been
chewed several times, but I have cut myself a new one with my knife, as
I can no longer bite it off, for the reason that there are hardly any
teeth, but I have still a few front ones, and I have one good tooth,
which is hidden and is no ornament, but it is useful when I eat tough
things like dried ham. And I take up the pen again because I want to let
you know that I am not so ill but that I may hold out for a while yet;
and, if I keep my health, you shall hear from me soon, but I have
nothing to say about the weather, because we have not had any weather
for a long time, and I am wondering whether this winter will come to
anything, or if it will pass over in damp and wet and loose wind.

Yours very truly,
LAURITZ BOLDEMANN SEEHUS,
Late Master-Pilot.

KRYDSVIG, April 13, 1889.

MR. EDITOR,

About the rotten feet on the sheep, which animal I by nature despise, on
account of its cowardice and a tremendous silliness, the one running
after the other, but if a man _will_ plague himself with farming who has
been a sailor from his mother's apron-string, he must keep these beasts
and others like his neighbours, although he understands nothing, or very
little, about the whole tribe. So I have upon my small patch of ground
two good ewes, with little wit, but wool, and I sent them long before
Yule to a ram at Boerevig, one of the fine kind from Scotland, as folk
bothered me that I must do it, because of the breed and the wool and
many things, but not a rotten foot did I hear of until after much
jangling among folk and a great to-do among the learned and such like,
which is nothing new to me in that kind of folk, who always and always
stand behind each other's backs, crying with a loud cry, 'It was not my
fault,' but, faith, it was. So I say to myself, 'What shall I do with
these rotten feet from Scotland, if I get the disease ingrafted, and
likewise upon the innocent offspring,' who are already toddling about
all three, because there were two in the one ewe. But foreign sickness
is not a thing to be afflicted with, at a time when we have scab among
our sheep and much else, and more than I know of, and thus I turned my
look again and again to that Government, to see if it will ever gather
sense. But yet the Government had not so very rotten feet in that other
important matter of a Sheriff, whom we got with unexpected smartness and
promptness, much to our gain and the reverse, when we think of what the
man now is, but there must be a skipper all the same. And now it is
growing light all over the world; that is, in our hemisphere, for spring
has come upon us with extraordinary quickness, and the ice, it went with
Peder-Varmestol, [Footnote: February 22nd.] and the lapwing, she came
one morning with her back shining as if she had been polished out of
bronze, with her crest erect, and throwing herself about in the air like
a dolphin in the sea, with her head down and her tail up, crying and
screaming. But the lark is really the silliest creature, to sing on
without ceasing the livelong day, and the sea-pie has come, and stands
bobbing upon the same stone as last year, and the wild-goose and the
water-wagtail. So we are all cheered up again, all the men of Jaederen,
and the cod bites, too, for those who have time, but folk are mostly
carting sea-weed, and ploughing and sowing, not without grumbling in
some places, but the work must be done.

Yours very truly,
L.B. SEEHUS.

KRYDSVIG, July 1, 1889.

MR. EDITOR,

Your letter of the 20th ult. received, and contents noted, and I now beg
to reply that it is not very convenient, for the reason that old folk's
talk is mostly about winter storms and seldom about summer, when the sun
shines, and the lambs frisk and throw their tails high in the air. But,
you see, they were tups all three, which was not unlooked-for after such
a ram, and consequently no letter can be expected from me before autumn,
when the sea gets some life in it and a grown man's voice, so to speak,
for now it lies--God bless me--like a basin of milk, to the inward
vexation of folk who know what the sea should be in Nature's household
with ships and storms and wreckage, and a decent number of wrecks at
those places where the structure of the coast permits the rescue of men
and a distribution of the wreck if it be of wood, but some trash are now
of iron. And I am now as parched in the hide as I was that time in
Naples when the helmsman sailed the brig on to the pier-head because a
hurricane had risen, and Skipper Worse and I stood on the quay and
cried, though he swore mostly, and I had a basket on my arm with
something that they called bananas, which they fry in butter. And it is
not very nice nowadays, when the sun rises and sets in nothing but blue
sky, and not a cloud to be seen, as if it were the Mediterranean of my
young days, and I smell the bananas, but we here have no other stinking
stuff, that I know, than ware and cods' heads. But, Mr. Editor, the
young are dull and heavy with the sunshine; I myself went about singing,
and wanted to show the flabby wenches of Varhaug how one once danced a
real _molinask_, as it was Sunday and the young folk hung round the
walls like half-dead flies in the heat. But there had been grease burnt,
which made it more slippery than soft soap on the deck, and there lay
the whole master-pilot in the middle of the _molinask_, and bit off the
stalk of his clay pipe, but he kept his tooth, which has already been
spoken about, and to his shame had to be lifted by four firm-handed
fellows with much laughing, wherefore I have sat myself down in my chair
to wait for the autumn, because I cannot speak or write about the
drought, but only get angry and unreasonable.

Yours very truly,
LAURITZ BOLDEMANN SEEHUS.

KRYDSVIG, October 20, 1889.

MR. EDITOR,

I could have continued my silence a very long time yet, for it has not
been a great autumn either on land or sea, but little summer storms, as
if for frolic, with small seas and loose wreckage, but unusually far
out, about three miles from land. But the long, dark lamp-lit evenings
are come, and this shoal of fish which I must write to you about and ask
what the end is going to be; for now we almost think that the sea up
north Stavanger way must be choke-full, as it was of herrings in the
good old days that are no more, but it is now big with coal-fish, mostly
north by the Reef, they say, but the undersigned and old Velas, who is a
still older man, got about four boxes of right nice coal-fish yesterday,
a little to the south-east. But half Jaeren [Footnote: Jaederen, the coast
district near Stavanger.] was on the sea, boat upon boat, for the double
reason of the coal-fish and that they had not an earthly thing to do
upon the land, for this year the earth has yielded us everything well
and very early, but the straw is short, which, if the truth must be
told, is the only thing to complain of. But the farmers are making wry
faces, like the merchants in Oestersoeen when they complain of the
herrings, for they must always complain, except about the sheep, which
are going off very well to the Englishman, and I can't conceive what
there will be left of this kind of beast in Jaeren, but it is all the
same to me, seeing that I have never liked the sheep at all until last
year, when he paid taxes for all Jaeren, which was more than was expected
of him. And it would be well if any one were able to put bounds upon
this burning of sea-ware, which the devil or somebody has invented for
use as a medicine in Bergen--they say, but I do not believe it, because
it has a stink that goes into the innermost part of your nostrils and
into your tobacco besides. But then the east wind is good for something,
at least, for it sends the heaps of ware out to sea, and I can imagine
how it will surprise the Queen of England when she knows how we stink.
And I have a grievance of my own, viz., boys shooting with blunderbusses
and powder, and with so little wit that my eyes flash with anger every
time I see them creeping on their stomachs towards a starling or a
couple of lean ring-plovers, and I shout and cast stones to warn the
innocent creatures, since the farmer of Jaeren is, as it were, his
thrall's thrall, and lets the servant-boys make a fool of him and play
the concertina all night, which might be put up with, but no powder and
shooting should be allowed, so that Jaeren may not become a desert for
bird-life, and only concertinas left and rascals of boys on their
stomachs as above.

Yours very truly,
LAURITZ BOLDEMANN SEEHUS.

KRYDSVIG, December 25, 1889.

MR. EDITOR,

After having, in the course of a long and very stormy life, given heed
to the clouds of the sky and the various aspects of the sea, which can
change before your eyes as you look, like a woman who discovers another
whom she likes better, and you stand forsaken and rejected, because a
girl's mind is like the ocean above-mentioned, and full of storms as the
Spanish Sea, and I early received my shock of that kind for life, of
which I do not intend to speak, but the weather is of a nature that I
have never before observed in this country, with small seas, rare and
moderate storms, and on this first Yule-day a peace on the earth and
such a complacent calm on the sea that you might row out in a trough.
The wreckage that came in on the 8th and 9th December last was the only
extravagance, so to speak, of the sea this year, for there was too much
in some places, and this will probably give the Lensmand a pretext for
holding an auction, to the great ruination of the people, for the planks
were rare ones, both long and good-hearted timber. But at an auction
half the pleasure is lost, besides more that is very various in
kind--for instance, brandy: and the town gentlemen who sell such liquor
to the farmer must answer to their consciences what substances and
ingredients such a drink is cooked out of, as it brings on mental
weakness and bodily torment, proof of which I have seen numberless times
in strong and well-fabricated persons, especially during the Yule-days.
But this is not my friendship's time, for they say at the farm that the
Oldermand [Footnote: Master-pilot] is haughty, and will not swallow
their devil's drink at any price. But I sit alone before a bottle of old
Jamaica, which is part of what Jacob Worse brought home from the West
Indies in 1825, and I think of him and Randulf and the old ones, and the
smell of the liquor seems to call up living conversations, which you can
hear, and you must laugh, although you are alone, and you have such a
desire to write everything down as it happened; but no more to the
newspapers for this reason, that they have been after me with false
teeth and a nice, neat widow, of whom nothing more will be said. And
this extraordinarily mild winter has in some way kept the rheumatism out
of my limbs; besides, I am strong by nature and no age to speak of; but,
of course, it must be admitted that youth is better and more lively, of
which, as above, nothing more will be said.

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