"If the prayer be good, the commoner the better.Prayer in the Church's words,As well as sense, of all prayers bears the bell."The Complete Angler.
The next day after the late breakfast at the parsonage, John Hardy rode over to the Jensen's on Buffalo, and Garth followed on one of the Danish horses, and was received with much warmth. Herr Jensen walked round and round Buffalo, for he loved a horse, and admired the length of his step as Buffalo walked. He had heard the story of his jumping the wall at Vandstrup Præstegaard, and his desire to see him perform in that capacity was so great, that Hardy put him through a gallop and over a few fences, and Herr Jensen approved loudly. Fru Jensen was present and her two daughters, Mathilde and Maria Jensen.
Hardy's quiet manner when he dismounted and made his respects to the ladies, as if he had just trotted his horse up the avenue, struck them, and they forgave him on the spot for leaving so early the night before.Hardy went into the old Danish Herregaard (country house), and was received with the usual Danish hospitality. The ladies talked incessantly of the proceedings of the night before, and Hardy had to bear the result of Frøken Jaeger's severe cross-examination to the fullest particular. She had told all Hardy's answers to her questions, and they were possessed with Hardy's position in England, so far as he had chosen to answer Frøken Jaeger, and the ladies were ready to pursue the inquiry further; but, fortunately for Hardy, Herr Jensen was anxious to show him his farm, and particularly his horses. Hardy at once assented, and Herr Jensen took him to see his brood mares and foals, with a few young horses not yet sold, which Herr Jensen was holding for a higher price than the people he sold to at Hamburgh would pay him. Garth accompanied them.
"I have sold horses often to England," said Jensen; "but they will pay a price upon each particular horse. Some they will pay £40 for, some they will pay £18 for; and when the horses arrive at Hull, they will say there is some fault or defect in the higher paid-for horses, and the consequence is that I prefer selling to the Germans. They pay £25 to £30 a horse, and take, perhaps, twenty or thirty yearly; and many of the best go to England after being trained, and the rest are sold in Germany or elsewhere; but I never hear any complaints of defects or the like."
"That I can well understand," said Hardy. "In England, a really good horse has no price. If he is wanted, any price will be paid; but a horse with a fault is nowhere."
"Our horses," said Jensen, "are good horses for light weights; but in England they are used chiefly for carriages now. I have two horses here that would make good saddle horses, and I wish you could try them."
The two horses Herr Jensen referred to were in a pasture, tethered to an iron spike driven in the ground, with a rope giving them a range of a few yards of grass.
"What do you think of these two horses, Bob?" said Hardy to Garth.
"Very good park hacks," said Garth, "and just the thing for a lady to ride."
"My man will try one of the horses if you like," said Hardy. "He is accustomed to horses."
Garth fetched the saddle he had rode over in, and a light snaffle bridle, and mounted, and, after the usual difficulties that always occur with colts, he rode the horse, sitting firm and easy in the saddle, to Herr Jensen's great admiration.
"He is a good horse," said Garth. "But, master, ask the governor one question, and that is how he feeds them in the winter."
"What does he say?" asked Herr Jensen.
"He asks how you feed your horses in the winter," replied Hardy.
"That is the difficulty," said Jensen. "We have little to give them in the winter and spring, and it is hard work to keep them alive. We cut our grass in the meadows twice yearly; the first hay is good, the second is not so good by a long way."
"Our notion is that a horse should always be kept well," said Hardy, "or his bone and sinew want firmness."
"There is no doubt of that," said Herr Jensen. "We understand that very well; but yet what can we do? We breed horses to make money by them. If we fed them as you say, we could not get the cost back."
"I have heard the same story in England," said Hardy; "a farmer has to treat his farm as a business, and, Herr Jensen, you are quite right in doing so."
Hardy went over Herr Jensen's farm, and his knowledge of farming in all its branches so interested Herr Jensen, that it was late when they returned to the Herregaard. Dinner was ready, and Hardy had to bear a running fire of criticism from Fru Jensen and her daughters. He had not, they said, observed the particular merits of many of the Danish ladies who had been present at the dance of the previous evening, but doubtless he was preoccupied.
"No," said Hardy, "I was not preoccupied. My difficulty is that I do not know Danish well, and Herr Jensen has had the greatest difficulty to understandme about horses; how, then, could I understand so difficult a subject as a Danish lady?"
"Frøken Jaeger says, you said that Frøken Helga Lindal would make an excellent wife," said Fru Jensen.
"Yes," said Hardy. "She asked me, and I said it was possible."
Hardy said this in so strong a manner that it was even apparent to Herr Jensen that he did not wish the conversation extended, so Herr Jensen proposed a cigar and an adjournment to his own room.
Hardy left at six o'clock, and rode to Vandstrup. On his way thither an occurrence happened that Hardy never forgot.
Hardy, followed by Garth, had ridden on to within an English mile of Vandstrup, when he saw a waggon overturned, and a man lying underneath it. The horses were kicking in their harness, as they lay in the ditch by the roadside. The waggon was the same as is usually employed by the Danish farmer, for his farm work, and was heavy in construction. Hardy galloped up, and found the man lying under the waggon evidently seriously injured. He was a workman called Nils Rasmussen, and had taken a load of turf, in company with another man with a similar load in another waggon, to a village near Vandstrup. The turf discharged, there was the opportunity of getting drunk; and the horses of both waggons were driven hard down a slope in the road by their drunkendrivers, and coming in contact, Nils Rasmussen was thrown out, and the waggon fell on him, whilst the struggling of the horses every moment increased the serious injuries he was receiving.
Garth cut the horses free, and Nils Rasmussen was taken from under the waggon. Several people came running up, and one of them rode Hardy's Danish horse for the district doctor. Hardy assisted in carrying the injured man to his home, and sent Garth to the stables on Buffalo, with instructions to come to Rasmussen's house for orders. It was clear the case was serious from the first Hardy undressed the man, and found that he had more than one limb broken, while from the froth and blood in the mouth, internal injuries were present.
When Garth returned, he was sent to the parsonage, with a request for a pair of dry clean sheets, a bottle of cognac, and some of Hardy's linen handkerchiefs. Garth returned in a white heat, without the articles he was sent for. Hardy had supposed that the news of the accident would have reached the parsonage, and after enumerating the articles required, he added a request that they should be given to Garth to take to Rasmussen's. Kirstin read the note, and put several questions to Garth, which, from his ignorance of Danish, it was impossible for him to answer; "When suddenly," said Garth, "she appeared to get into a rage. She rushed at me, beat me about the head, and shouted at me."
The district doctor now came in, and Hardy's attention was occupied. He told him what he had seen of the accident, and the symptoms of injury internally. The doctor was used to cases either more or less grave of a similar character, and he showed much cool professional skill. "I will remain here," he said to Hardy, "until sent for. The case is hopeless, and all that can be done is to watch by him."
When the doctor left, Hardy decided to remain, as Nils Rasmussen's wife and family were incapable of being of the slightest use. He sent Garth to his lodgings, with orders to come to Rasmussen's at six the next morning.
Meanwhile Hardy had been expected at the parsonage, and it grew later and later.
"He is stopping with the Jensens," said the Pastor,
"No, he is not!" burst out Kirstin; "he is at Rasmussen's. He sent that man of his here a while since for a pair of sheets and a bottle of the best brandy to take to Rasmussen's, and you can see the writing he sent by his servant."
The Pastor took the scrap of paper and read it aloud.
"It is that bold, bad hussey, Karen Rasmussen!" said Kirstin.
"How can you know that?" said Frøken Helga.
"Know it!" exclaimed Kirstin; "I am sure of it. No man can be so good as the Englishman appears to be."
The Pastor and his family retired to rest with a shock of grief and pain. "He must leave at once," thought the Pastor.
Shortly after six the next morning, Garth fetched one of Rasmussen's neighbours, whom he sent with the following note to the pastor, written on a similar scrap of paper as his unfortunate communication of the previous evening, and torn from his note-book.
"Dear Herr Pastor,
"Nils Rasmussen, the workman at Jorgensens, is sinking fast. You have, of course, heard of the accident? The district doctor at once saw the case was beyond all hope. Will you come immediately?
"Yours faithfully,
"John Hardy."
As the Pastor left his house, he met one after another of Nils Rasmussen's neighbours coming for him. He heard of John Hardy's assistance and care, and that he had been the whole night acting as nurse, as the family were incapable.
As the Pastor entered, he met Hardy.
"It is too late, Herr Pastor," said the latter; "the man is dead. But go in and speak to the wife, and I will wait for you. Here is twenty kroner, which you can give her; the expenses of the funeral I will bear, and I can arrange that she shall receive ten kronerweekly, through the post-office, until they can help themselves."
In half an hour the Pastor came out, and he said, "Hardy, I thank you for your attention to this poor man. You have done nothing more than what was right you should do, and what any one else should have done; but you have done your duty with a kindliness that does you honour."
Hardy said nothing, the horror of watching a man dying in agony for a whole night had unstrung his steady nerves. On reaching the parsonage, he went to his room, and, wearied out, at last fell asleep.
The Pastor, after the usual morning prayers with his household, said, "Stay, Kirstin! You have wickedly cast shame on an honest man; you have attributed sin to another without cause. You have heard that Rasmussen is dead, and how he died; but you do not know that the man you foully slandered had done his utmost for his brother man. When I came to Rasmussen's house, Herr Hardy's clothes were covered with dirt and blood. He had tended the dying man the whole night; he had torn up his linen shirt and under-clothing for bandages; and when I was about to speak to the widow, he gave me money for present need, and has ordered it so that she shall not want for the future. And yet this is the man to whom you would impute sin and shame. Ask forgiveness of God, and beg Herr Hardy's pardon. Go!"
The hard-natured Jutland woman was overcome. Frøken Helga's eyes filled with tears, and she went and kissed her father.
"We were wrong to think evil of another, under any circumstances," said the Pastor, "or to allow suspicion of evil to grow in our minds."
Hardy was ignorant of the little episode thus acted in the Pastor's household, and when he came down from his room some time later, he found a breakfast waiting for him, the Pastor shook hands with him, and asked how he was.
"I feel what I have gone through this night," replied Hardy, "but am quite well."
"An honest answer," said the Pastor.
"But, little father," said Frøken Helga, "can you not tell Herr Hardy that he has been kind and good?"
Praise from her father's lips for a duty well done was with Helga more than gold or incense; and how wrong had they not all been towards Hardy!
"Your father has already said enough," said Hardy.
"Then I will speak for myself," said Helga, "and say that I thank you for your goodness to Rasmussen and his family;" and she took his hand and kissed it.
Hardy saw she was governed by a momentary impulse, but it evinced a warm sympathy for what she considered a good act, and impressed him the more so as her manner was always towards him cold and retiring.
At this juncture Kirstin appeared in an unusual state of agitation.
"I have come," she said, "to ask Herr Hardy's pardon, for what I have said and done."
"My servant reports to me that you beat him yesterday," said Hardy, "and as you did not beat me I have nothing to forgive. I have told my man, if you do so again, to lay the matter before the authorities. He will have to come here in acting as my servant; but if you beat him because you cannot understand him, he must be protected, the more so as his orders are not to strike you, under any circumstances. The matter has been brought to the Herr Pastor's knowledge, and that is enough, and you can go out."
There was a stern dignity in John Hardy's manner, always present in a man of his type when accustomed to obedience.
Kirstin hesitated. "You can go out, Kirstin," repeated Hardy; and she obeyed.
Frøken Helga's implicit faith in the rigid character of Kirstin was shaken.
Rasmussen's funeral took place shortly after, and on the Sunday the Pastor referred to Hardy's conduct.
"It may hurt the sensibility of the Englishman who is with us, that I should refer to him thus publicly; but it is my duty, while the occurrence of Rasmussen's death has the force of its being recent to point out, not that it was his simple duty to do what he did, butthe way and manner that duty was done showed a Christian charity that no one of us could do more than imitate."
"I question whether you are right, to praise the conduct of an individual from the pulpit, Herr Pastor," said Hardy.
"My duty," said the Pastor, gravely, "is to preach the parable of the Good Samaritan, and the recent occurrence will interest many who would not be interested otherwise."
"My father has done what is right," said his daughter, with warmth. "I should have done the same."
"Oh, how happy here's our leisure!Oh, how innocent our pleasure!"The Complete Angler.
John Hardy received a letter from his mother, dated from Hardy Place.
"My dearest John,
"Your weekly letters have become shorter, and I have read between the lines that you are keeping back something from your mother; but this doubt has been made a certainty from a letter of Robert Garth's to his friends here. He writes, so I hear, that the 'governor' is sweet on a parson's daughter in Denmark. Now, I know, dearest John, that you will always be the true gentleman your father was; but this has distressed me, because you say yourself nothing. Do come home to me. I miss the sound of your footstep, the manly voice that reminds me of your father, and, above all, your kindly manner to your mother. Write at once, as my anxiety is more than I can bear."
There was more in the letter, breathing the same deep affectionate solicitude a mother alone feels. John Hardy wrote at once.
"My dearest Mother,
"If I had anything to tell you, I should have told you long ago. I have described Pastor Lindal's family to you in my letters, and, I can only add, my respect for him grows daily. He does his duty with a simplicity that is difficult to be understood in England, and I have learnt to look forward to hearing his Sunday sermons, from their freshness such as single-mindedness alone gives. I feel more the earnestness of religion and the simplicity with which it should be invested from the influence of his character. I know you will say that this has nothing to do with Frøken Helga Lindal, his daughter, and you want to hear of her. All I can say is, that her character is what would attract you. She does her duty in the Pastor's household with simple exactness; she assists in visiting the parish, and is of material use to her father in this respect. She is spoken of everywhere and by all in praise and regard, and she is like her father—simple and true. I cannot say that I do not admire so perfect a nature, but I do not feel now a wish to ask her to be my wife, and if I did she would say 'no.' Her father is a widower, and his daughter is his right hand. His two boys, who are really good lads, have to be considered, andFrøken Helga's influence over them is complete. Her leaving her father would leave him unassisted, and his two sons without the influence she alone possesses. She knows and sees this, and would sacrifice her life to her sense of duty. If she cared for me, there would be no difference; that would be sacrificed too. I can assure you that I shall never bring any one to Hardy Place that my mother cannot receive as her daughter. The kind affection and care you have always shown me is dearer to me than houses and land and wealth or the strongest feelings of selfishness.
"I hope, dear mother, that this will set your mind at rest.
"If you wish me to come home, I will do so; but I wish to stay longer, and when you see there is no real cause for anxiety, you may have no objection. The days pass pleasantly here. I teach the two boys English every day. They fish with me for trout in the river, the Gudenaa, and we make excursions together, and occasionally we visit a Danish family in the neighbourhood; and the genuine kindness I receive everywhere interests me. In the evenings Pastor Lindal is conversational, and his conversation is like his sermons, always fresh. There is no one thought harped upon and torn to tatters. To say he is a man of original thought would not describe him—it is individuality and simplicity; there is nothing extraordinary or unusual, but a clearness ofcolour, like a diamond, which is the more valuable when it has no colour."
John Hardy wrote a little more on home affairs at Hardy Place, and closed his letter.
In the evening, when the Pastor's pipe was as usual lighted by his daughter, Hardy asked him as to the superstitions in Denmark, and if they then were prevalent and had any force.
"They are endless," said the Pastor, "and in every conceivable direction. There is no land so full of traditional superstition as Jutland."
"When in Norway," said Hardy, "the superstition that struck me most was that of the Huldr, who in different districts was differently described. Generally the Huldr was described as a tall fair woman, with a yellow bodice and a blue skirt, with long fair yellow hair loose over the shoulders; but she was as hollow as a kneading trough, and had a cow's tail. She was described as coming to the Sæter farms on the fjelds, after they were vacated by the Norwegian farmers, with a quantity of cattle and milking cans; and I have heard the cattle call sang by Norwegians that they have heard the Huldr sing. I have spoken with people who have seen the Huldr, and described her to me with a vividness as if it were a real personage. I have heard people say they have seen her knitting, sitting on a rock with a ball of worsted thrown out before her, to entice mortals to take it up, when they must follow where she would lead."
"We have not that superstition in Jutland," said the Pastor; "that is begotten of the lonely life in the isolated farms in the fields in Norway and their interminable woods and natural wildness of nature. Our superstitions are, as I said, endless. They consist of historical traditions of a supernatural character, of traditions attached to places, as old houses, churches, also of particular men, of hidden treasure, of robbers, and the like. Then there are the more supernatural superstitions, as of witches, ghosts, the devil, of Trolds, of mermen and mermaids, of Nissen, like your English pixey, of the three-legged horse that inhabits the churchyards, the were-wolf, the gnome that inhabits the elder tree, the nightmare, or, as we call it, Maren. There is also the tradition of gigantic dragons or serpents, called by us Lindorm, in which your story of St. George and the dragon prominently figures. There are also minor superstitions of the will-o'-the-wisp, the bird called in English the goatsucker, and the classical Basilisk."
"But surely all those superstitions cannot exist now?" inquired Hardy.
"I do not say they do; but they are hidden to a greater extent in the recesses of the hearts of the people than you would imagine."
"Can you relate anything of these superstitions?" said Hardy. "It would interest me beyond everything."
"Yes," said the Pastor. "I will give you anexample in any one of the particular traditions I have mentioned, and I will begin with the historical superstition, as I mentioned that first.
"When King Gylfe reigned in Sweden, a woman came to him, and she enchanted him so by her singing that he gave her leave to plough so much of his land as she could in a day with four oxen, and what she thus ploughed should be hers. This woman was of the race of the giants (Aseme). She took her four sons and changed them into oxen, and attached them to the plough. She ploughed out the place she had chosen, and thus created the island of Sjælland. She did this from the Mælar lake in Sweden; and it is said that where there is a point of land in Sjælland there is in the Mælar lake a bay, and vice versâ, so that both the Mælar lake and Sjælland island have one form, one is land, the other water. This tradition is common over Denmark, and with us has become classical. The woman's name was Gefion."
"I have seen a delineation of the tradition," said Hardy, "at one of your Danish palaces, on a ceiling at Fredriksborg."
"Yes, it is there; but you will find it everywhere in Denmark," replied the Pastor. "Of traditions of churches, they are endless; but we will take one example, possibly by no means the best. When Hadderup church, between Viborg and Holstebro, was building, the Trolds tore down every night whathad been erected in the day. It was therefore determined to attach two calves to a load of stones in a waggon, and where the calves were found in the morning to build the church. This, however, did not answer, and at last an agreement was made with the Trolds that they should allow the church to be built, on the condition that they should have the first bride that went to the church. This succeeded, and the church was built. When the first bridal procession should, however, go to the church, at a particular place a sudden mist fell upon them, and when it cleared off the bride had disappeared."
"A very striking tradition," said Hardy. "It has a good deal of picturesque colouring."
"Yes," said the Pastor, "and that is why I told you that particular tradition. But of places there is a tradition of Silkeborg, with nothing supernatural about it; but as you have been there fishing, it may interest you to know why it has obtained that name. The story is, that a bishop wished to build a house there, but he was uncertain where; so he threw his silk hat into the water as he sailed on the Gudenaa, and he determined that where his silk hat came to land, that there would he build his house. The hat came ashore at Silkeborg. The bishop, however, could not have sailed up the Gudenaa, and the probability is he must have gone down the lake, as the Gudenaa runs from the lake through Jutland to the sea at Randers."
"There is a similar tradition," said Hardy, "in Iceland. When the Norwegian chiefs were conquered by Harold the Fair-haired, about 870, they cast the carved oak supports of their chairs, that they were accustomed to sit in at the head of their tables, surrounded by their dependents, and decided that where these drove ashore, they would found a colony; and where they did drive ashore was on the shores of Iceland. It may possibly have influenced the tradition you relate of Silkeborg."
"Possibly," said the Pastor; "but of traditions of places, there are very many, and, as an example, there was in Randers province an island, and on the island a mansion; and when the family owning it were absent, three women-servants determined to play the priest a trick. They dressed up a sow like a sick person in bed, and sent for the priest to administer the sacrament to a dying person. The priest, however, saw the wicked deception, and at once left the island in his boat. Immediately the whole island sank as soon as he lifted his foot from the shore of the island. But a table swam towards him, on which was his Bible, which in his anger and haste he had forgotten to take with him. Where the island sank can, it is said, yet be seen the three chimneys of the mansion deep down in the water; and there are some high trees growing up through the water, to which, when they grow high enough, will the enemies of Denmark come and fasten their ships."
"This story is only one of a class to the same effect," continued the Pastor. "It has many variations to a similar effect. You have heard of Limfjord in North Jutland. It derives its name after our tradition to the following: At the birth of Christ a Trold woman was so enraged at the circumstance of his birth that she produced a monster at a birth, and this monster gradually took the form of a boar; and it is related that when the boar was in the woods, its bristles were higher than the tops of the trees. This boar was called Limgrim, and rooted up the land so as to create the inlet of the sea that we call Limfjord; the name originally was Limgrimsfjord, since abbreviated to Limfjord."
"What is your view of the origin of these traditions?" asked Hardy.
"They are to me," said the Pastor, "an evidence of the continuous change the world undergoes, has undergone, and will undergo. The older the tradition, the more antagonistic it is to the known laws of nature; the later the tradition, the less improbable it is. We have seen how heathenism, with its unreasonable and wild vagaries, gave way to the early Christian Church. Then arose the ultramontane Church, which was succeeded by the purer light let in by Morten Luther; and changes are taking place, and will take place; and the use of these old traditions is to teach us that change must be. Age succeeds to age, and generation to generation. The science of geology teaches the samelesson. As we learn more of it, and more accurately of it, we gradually grasp the thought that endless ages have wrought changes, and will continue to work at the discretion of the Great Power that we feel and know exists. We can only say that the works of the Lord are wonderful, and trust in him."
"Have you heard of the religion of Buddha?" said Hardy. "With all our present researches into it, we know comparatively little; but, taken broadly, it is a doctrine of slow development. A life exists, and gradually earthly passion ceases, and a state of perfect rest is reached, but through an endless series of change."
"Yes," replied Pastor Lindal; "but it is a religion of the imagination. It has a certain beauty and a poetic charm, while the Christian religion has the reality of the principle that kindliness is the real gold of life, which I have learnt from you."
Hardy felt that in his letters to his mother he had correctly described Pastor Lindal.
Frøken Helga had continued knitting as usual, but that she listened to every word her father uttered was clear to Hardy; and when he rose to go to his room for the night, she said, "Thank you, Herr Hardy; you have interested my father to speak in the way he only can."
"But he that unto others leads the wayIn public prayer,Should do it so,As all that hear may knowThey need not fearTo tune their hearts unto his tongue."The Complete Angler.
The next day, as soon as signs of the tobacco parliament were apparent by Frøken Helga filling and lighting her father's pipe, Karl and Axel, who had been interested in listening to the conversation on traditions the previous evening, besought Hardy to lead Pastor Lindal to the same subject.
"The many ancient burial places existing all over Jutland," said Hardy, "must have given rise to traditions of hidden treasure. Our English word for these tumuli is barrows."
"And ours," said the Pastor, "is Kæmpehøi, or Kæmpedysse, meaning a fighting man's burial place; the verb to fight is kæmpe, and present Danish. It was, however, a custom to bury treasure in secluded places,and to kill a slave at the place that his ghost might guard the treasure. There is a tumulus or barrow between Viborg and Holstebro. It is related that this barrow was formerly always covered with a blue mist, and that a copper kettle full of money was buried there. One night, however, two men dug down to the kettle, and seized it by the handle; but immediately wonderful things happened, with a view of preventing them from taking away the kettle and the money—first, they saw a black dog with a red hot tongue; next, a cock drawing a load of hay; then a carriage with four black horses. The men, however, pursued their occupation without uttering a word. But at last came a man, lame in one foot, halting by, and he said, 'Look, the town is on fire!' The two men looked, and sure enough the town appeared to them to be on fire. One of them uttered an exclamation, and the kettle and the treasure sank in the earth far beyond their reach. There are many of these stories, but the principle inculcated is, that when digging for treasure it must be carried out in perfect silence. You will have observed that a great many of the tumuli you have met with in Denmark have been opened. This has chiefly been done by the hidden-treasure seekers; but it has had one good result, and that is, it has enriched the museums in Denmark, especially that of Northern Antiquities in Copenhagen. You have probably seen the museum in Bergen, Norway. You will have seen precisely the same type of subjects there as in Copenhagen; and in the tumuliin Norway, Sweden, and Denmark, what has been found is,coeteris paribus, identical in type."
"You said just now that a slave was killed at places where treasure was hidden," said Hardy; "is there much belief in that direction?"
"Yes; the belief in ghosts was very strong," replied the Pastor, "and still exists. The general view was that if a man's conduct was criminal in a high degree, that within three days after he 'walked;' that is, his ghost appeared at the places he had been attached to when in life, attended by more or less supernatural attributes. This, of course, arose from our Saviour's resurrection on the third day; but as to this, I will tell you a tradition that is an exception. There was once a man who was exceptionally wicked and bad; he was a thief and a robber, never went to church, and committed all manner of crimes. When he died and was buried in the churchyard, and the people who had attended the funeral had returned to the man's house to drink the Gravøl—that is the beer that was specially brewed for consumption at a funeral—lo! there was the dead and buried man sitting on the roof of the house, glaring down on all those who ventured to look up at him. The priest was sent for, and he exorcised the ghost, and ordered him to remain, until the world's end, at the bottom of a moss bog, and to keep him there had a sharp stake driven through him; but, notwithstanding, the ghost rises at night, but as he cannot, from the exorcising of the priest, assume human form,he flies about in the likeness of the bird we call the night raven until cock crow."
"In English," said Hardy, "the night jar. It was the practice in England to bury suicides with a stake driven through their bodies at four cross-ways. It is possible that this arose from a desire to prevent the ghost of the dead person from troubling the living, and being at a four cross-ways, that it should not know which direction to take."
"It may be so," said Pastor Lindal; "but in discussing these things we are apt, as in philology, to assume our own comparisons to be correct. We have also the traditions of spectral huntsmen, with the accompaniment of horses and hounds with red-hot glowing tongues; and, singularly enough, the tradition often occurs that their quarry was the Elle-kvinder, that is women of the elves, but who are described as of the size of ordinary women. The spectral huntsmen have often been seen with the Elle-kvinder tied to their saddles by their hair."
"Your traditions of witches," said Hardy, "appear to be similar to ours. You appear to have burnt and thrown them into ponds to drown after the same cruel custom as in England."
"True," replied the Pastor, "and the description in Macbeth of witches answers to our traditions. On St. John's night witches were supposed to fly to Bloksberg, a mythical place in Norway, upon broomsticks and in brewing tubs. There they met GamleErik, the evil one, who entered their names in his ledger, and instructed them in witchcraft, and, after executing the witches' dance, they returned to their respective homes in the same fashion. This tradition is common to other countries, but in Jutland the belief was that the favourite form a witch adopted was that of a hare, which evaded the huntsmen, and could not be shot except by a piece of silver, which must have been inherited—a piece of silver purchased or given had no effect. The witch was then found in the person of some old woman with a wound, who was forthwith dealt with in the cruel fashion then the rule. The gypsies, or, as they are called with us, Tâtarfolk, from their eastern origin, drove a good business by professing to cure the effects of witchcraft; they generally managed to cause the ill effect, however, before they cured it. They would give a drug to a farmer's cow, and call a few days after and offer to drive away the witch that possessed the cow. They would take with them a black furry doll tied to a string. A hole was dug several feet deep in the cowhouse; suddenly the black furry thing was at the bottom of the hole, just sufficient for some of the people to see it when it disappeared. That was the witch; the cow was, of course, cured by an antidote."
"The gypsy is common enough in England," said Hardy; "but they do less in telling fortunes or in thieving farmyards then formerly was their custom. They appear to do a good business in small wares,as brushes and mats, which they take about in vans."
"The gypsy," said the Pastor, "where superstition exists, trade upon it, and in old times in Denmark this brought them a rich harvest. They persuaded the farmers' wives that they must have inherited silver, or they could do nothing against evil influences, and acquired thereby many an old-fashioned heirloom. With us they have never pursued, as you suggest, a steady trade."
"Have you not a tradition of a book called Cyprianus?" asked Hardy.
"The idea of the book is from the Sibyll's books of Roman history," replied Pastor Lindal. "The contents of Cyprianus is very differently described. It is related of it that it is a book of prophecy of material events, that is not in a religious sense. Also, it is described as containing formula for raising the devil, or a number of small devils, who immediately demand work to do, and whom it is fatal not to keep employed. There are many stories based on this, chiefly related of persons who accidentally find a Cyprianus and read some of it, when the hobgoblins appear, and the difficulty of the situation increases until some person versed in the use of the book applies the formula that sends the hobgoblins to their proper places."
"The devil I have always heard in Norway as taking the form of a black dog," said Hardy.
"It is the same in our traditions," said Pastor Lindal. "An extraordinary belief was that a carriage at certain times and places would not move, and that the horses could not draw it. The remedy then was, for those who knew how, to take off one hind wheel of the carriage and put it in the carriage, when the devil would have to act as hind wheel to the end of the journey, much to his supposed discomfort. There are many stories of this."
"Hans Christian Andersen's stories have made us acquainted with Nissen, or the house goblin," said Hardy.
"There is little more to tell you then," said the Pastor, "except that Nissen's description is defined by our traditions in Jutland to be a little fellow with sharp cat-formed ears, and to have fingers only, and no thumb. He is supposed to inhabit particular farm-houses and their range of buildings, and, when there is a scarcity of fodder, will steal from another farm; and if there be another Nissen there, they will fight each for the interests of the farm he frequents. He will play tricks on the people working at the farms, particularly so if every Thursday night his porridge is neglected to be put in its accustomed place, generally in the threshing barn."
"But have you no traditions of underground people?" asked Hardy.
"The stories of underground people are more abundant than any other class of tradition," repliedthe Pastor. "We call them Underjordiske, which means underground people; but by it is included Elle folk or elves, Trolds or goblins, and Bjærg folk or hill people. Their homes are chiefly placed by tradition in the tumuli or barrows to which we have before referred; and at times a tumulus is seen as standing on four pillars, while the Underjordiske dance underneath and drink ale and mead. At times it is related that they come out of their dwellings in the barrows with their red cows, or to air their money, or clean their kitchen utensils. Through all these stories the manner of life of the Underjordiske is the same as that of the Danish Bønde or farmer. They are not, however, always supposed to live in the barrows, as several stories exist of the Bjærg folk coming to a Bønde and asking him to shift his stable to another place, as the dung from his cattle falls on his (the Bjærgmand's) dining-table, and it is disagreeable. If the Bønde obeys, he is promised prosperity, and everything thrives on his farm. They can also, however, be revengeful, and are dangerous generally. Their particular aversion is church bells, and it is generally attributed to their influence that there are so few Underjordiske seen nowadays."
"Can you relate any stories of them?" asked Hardy.
"Very many," replied the Pastor. "There are several collections of these traditions, and although each collection is generally the same in character,yet the details and stories themselves widely differ. But I will tell you two of the stories. A Trold lived in a barrow between two church towers, about a mile from each other. This Trold had a wife, who was of Christian folk. It was necessary to get the services of a midwife, and the Trold fetched the nearest, and gave her for her services what appeared to be two pieces of charcoal; but the Trold's wife told her to take them home, but warned her that as soon as she put one foot outside she should suddenly jump aside, as the Trold would cast a glowing hot-iron rod at her. She followed the advice and went home, when the charcoal turned to silver money. The two women, however, became friends, and the midwife often spun flax for the Trold; but she was forbidden to wet her fingers with Christian spittle, and they brought her a little crock to hold water for her to wet her fingers in. This continued for some time, when at last the Trold wife came to the midwife and said, 'My husband, the Trold, will stay here no longer. He says he cannot bear the two ding-dong danging church towers.' So they left, flying, it is said, through the air on a long stick, with all their belongings."
"A story with some imagery," said Hardy.
"The next, however, is more so," said the Pastor. "On a St. John's night, or, as we call it, Sankt. Hans. Nat, the Bjærg folk and Elle folk had collected to make merry. A man came riding by from Viborg, and he could see the assembled Underjordiske enjoyingthe feast. An Ellekone, or elf wife, went round with a large silver tankard, and offered drink to every one, and came at last to the horseman. He pretended to drink, but threw the contents of the tankard over his shoulder, put spurs to his horse, and galloped off. But the Ellekone was after him, and came nearer and nearer; her breasts were so long that they fell on her knees and impeded her. She therefore threw them, one after the other, over her shoulders, and continued the chase with renewed speed. Fortunately he was close to the river, and dashed through it. The Ellekone caught the hind shoe of his horse, and tore it off; but she could not go over the water. The tankard was said to be the largest ever seen in Denmark."
"The story is a common one to many countries, but it scarcely exists with so much clear and distinct imagery as in your recital, Herr Pastor," said Hardy.
"I think now we have had enough of traditions for one evening," said the Pastor.
"What is your opinion of the effect of these traditions on the minds of the people generally?" asked Hardy.
"It is difficult to say," said the Pastor; "we can but guess at their effect. As education and civilization progress, they lose their superstitious influence and interest and amuse. There is a wild picturesque imagery that must appeal to the most educated mind. They afford subjects to painters; but I have never seena picture yet based on these traditions that grasped the graphic thought of the recital of the tradition. In a religious sense they do no harm; they excite the imagination of the people only to prepare their minds for the simplicity of the Christian faith, at least they assist to do so. When I visit my Sognebørn (literally, parish children), I tell the children these traditions, and when they grow older they like to hear anything I have to say; it assists me in suggesting religious thought when their minds are ripe for it."
Frøken Helga, who had all the evening knitted and listened to her father, dropped her knitting and went to him and caressed him. "Dear little father," she said, "you are always good and thoughtful."
"I think so also," said Hardy.