The Wonderful Adventures of Nils by Selma Lagerlöf (i can read book club TXT) 📕

‘Don’t be afraid! Now I know why you brought me here, and I shall not leave you.’

“The fine cattle from the parsonage farm emerged from the forest and marched to the Wood-nymph and the wild beasts. Last in the line was the horse that had brought his master to Black’s Ridge. The dean did not leave the saddle, but let the animal take him to the Wood-nymph.

“He had neither knife nor gun for his defence, but he had taken out the Prayerbook and sat pressing it to his heart as he exposed himself to battle against evil.

“At first it appeared as if none had observed him. The dean’s cattle filed past the Wood-nymph in the same order as the others had done. She did not wave the torch toward any of these, but as soon as the intelligent horse stepped forward, she made a movement to mark him for death.

“Instantly the dean held up the Prayerbook, and the torchlight fell upon the cross on its cover. The Wood-nymph uttered a loud, shrill cry and let the torch drop from her hand.

“Immediately the flame was extinguished. In the sudden transition from light to darkness the dean saw nothing, nor did he hear anything. About him reigned the profound stillness of a wilderness in winter.

“Then the dark clouds parted, and through the opening stepped the full round moon to shed its light upon the ground. The dean saw that he and the horse were alone on the summit of Black’s Ridge. Not one of the many wild beasts was there. The ground had not been trampled by the herds that had passed over it; but the dean himself sat with his Prayerbook before him, while the horse under him stood trembling and foaming.

“By the time the dean reached home he no longer knew whether or not it had been a dream, a vision, or reality⁠—this that he had seen; but he took it as a warning to him to remember the poor creatures who were at the mercy of wild beasts. He preached so powerfully to the Delsbo peasants that in his day all the wolves and bears were exterminated from that section of the country, although they may have returned since his time.”

Here Bernhard ended his story. He received praise from all sides and it seemed to be a foregone conclusion that he would get the prize. The majority thought it almost a pity that Clement had to compete with him.

But Clement, undaunted, began:

“One day, while I was living at Skansen, just outside of Stockholm, and longing for home⁠—” Then he told about the tiny midget he had ransomed so that he would not have to be confined in a cage, to be stared at by all the people. He told, also, that no sooner had he performed this act of mercy than he was rewarded for it. He talked and talked, and the astonishment of his hearers grew greater and greater; but when he came to the royal lackey and the beautiful book, all the dairymaids dropped their needlework and sat staring at Clement in open-eyed wonder at his marvellous experiences.

As soon as Clement had finished, the eldest of the dairymaids announced that he should have the muffler.

“Bernhard related only things that happened to another, but Clement has himself been the hero of a true story, which I consider far more important.”

In this all concurred. They regarded Clement with very different eyes after hearing that he had talked with the King, and the little fiddler was afraid to show how proud he felt. But at the very height of his elation someone asked him what had become of the midget.

“I had no time to set out the blue bowl for him myself,” said Clement, “so I asked the old Laplander to do it. What has become of him since then I don’t know.”

No sooner had he spoken than a little pine cone came along and struck him on the nose. It did not drop from a tree, and none of the peasants had thrown it. It was simply impossible to tell whence it had come.

“Aha, Clement!” winked the dairymaid, “it appears as if the tiny folk were listening to us. You should not have left it to another to set out that blue bowl!”

In Medelpad

Friday, June seventeenth.

The boy and the eagle were out bright and early the next morning. Gorgo hoped that he would get far up into West Bothnia that day. As luck would have it, he heard the boy remark to himself that in a country like the one through which they were now travelling it must be impossible for people to live.

The land which spread below them was Southern Medelpad. When the eagle heard the boy’s remark, he replied:

“Up here they have forests for fields.”

The boy thought of the contrast between the light, golden-rye fields with their delicate blades that spring up in one summer, and the dark spruce forest with its solid trees which took many years to ripen for harvest.

“One who has to get his livelihood from such a field must have a deal of patience!” he observed.

Nothing more was said until they came to a place where the forest had been cleared, and the ground was covered with stumps and lopped-off branches. As they flew over this ground, the eagle heard the boy mutter to himself that it was a mighty ugly and poverty-stricken place.

“This field was cleared last winter,” said the eagle.

The boy thought of the harvesters at home, who rode on their reaping machines on fine summer mornings, and in a short time mowed a large field. But the forest field was harvested in winter. The lumbermen went out in the wilderness when the snow was deep, and the cold most severe. It was tedious work to fell even one tree, and to hew down a forest such as this they must have been out in the open many weeks.

“They have to be hardy men