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THE ELFIN HILL

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  IT is more than a hundred years ago! At the border of the

  wood, near a large lake, stood the old mansion1: deep ditches

  surrounded it on every side, in which reeds and bulrushes

  grew. Close by the drawbridge, near the gate, there was an old

  willow2 tree, which bent3 over the reeds.

  From the narrow pass came the sound of bugles4 and the

  trampling of horses' feet; therefore a little girl who was

  watching the geese hastened to drive them away from the

  bridge, before the whole hunting party came galloping5 up; they

  came, however, so quickly, that the girl, in order to avoid

  being run over, placed herself on one of the high

  corner-stones of the bridge. She was still half a child and

  very delicately built; she had bright blue eyes, and a gentle,

  sweet expression. But such things the baron6 did not notice;

  while he was riding past the little goose-girl, he reversed

  his hunting crop, and in rough play gave her such a push with

  it that she fell backward into the ditch.

  "Everything in the right place!" he cried. "Into the ditch

  with you."

  Then he burst out laughing, for that he called fun; the

  others joined in- the whole party shouted and cried, while the

  hounds barked.

  While the poor girl was falling she happily caught one of

  the branches of the willow tree, by the help of which she held

  herself over the water, and as soon as the baron with his

  company and the dogs had disappeared through the gate, the

  girl endeavoured to scramble7 up, but the branch broke off, and

  she would have fallen backward among the rushes, had not a

  strong hand from above seized her at this moment. It was the

  hand of a pedlar; he had witnessed what had happened from a

  short distance, and now hastened to assist her.

  "Everything in the right place," he said, imitating the

  noble baron, and pulling the little maid up to the dry ground.

  He wished to put the branch back in the place it had been

  broken off, but it is not possible to put everything in the

  right place;" therefore he stuck the branch into the soft

  ground.

  "Grow and thrive if you can, and produce a good flute8 for

  them yonder at the mansion," he said; it would have given him

  great pleasure to see the noble baron and his companions well

  thrashed. Then he entered the castle- but not the banqueting

  hall; he was too humble10 for that. No; he went to the servants'

  hall. The men-servants and maids looked over his stock of

  articles and bargained with him; loud crying and screaming

  were heard from the master's table above: they called it

  singing- indeed, they did their best. Laughter and the howls

  of dogs were heard through the open windows: there they were

  feasting and revelling11; wine and strong old ale were foaming

  in the glasses and jugs12; the favourite dogs ate with their

  masters; now and then the squires13 kissed one of these animals,

  after having wiped its mouth first with the tablecloth14. They

  ordered the pedlar to come up, but only to make fun of him.

  The wine had got into their heads, and reason had left them.

  They poured beer into a stocking that he could drink with

  them, but quick. That's what they called fun, and it made them

  laugh. Then meadows, peasants, and farmyards were staked on

  one card and lost.

  "Everything in the right place!" the pedlar said when he

  had at last safely got out of Sodom and Gomorrah, as he called

  it. "The open high road is my right place; up there I did not

  feel at ease."

  The little maid, who was still watching the geese, nodded

  kindly to him as he passed through the gate.

  Days and weeks passed, and it was seen that the broken

  willow-branch which the peddlar had stuck into the ground near

  the ditch remained fresh and green- nay15, it even put forth9

  fresh twigs16; the little goose-girl saw that the branch had

  taken root, and was very pleased; the tree, so she said, was

  now her tree. While the tree was advancing, everything else at

  the castle was going backward, through feasting and gambling,

  for these are two rollers upon which nobody stands safely.

  Less than six years afterwards the baron passed out of his

  castle-gate a poor beggar, while the baronial seat had been

  bought by a rich tradesman. He was the very pedlar they had

  made fun of and poured beer into a stocking for him to drink;

  but honesty and industry bring one forward, and now the pedlar

  was the possessor of the baronial estate. From that time

  forward no card-playing was permitted there.

  "That's a bad pastime," he said; "when the devil saw the

  Bible for the first time he wanted to produce a caricature in

  opposition to it, and invented card-playing."

  The new proprietor18 of the estate took a wife, and whom did

  he take?- The little goose-girl, who had always remained good

  and kind, and who looked as beautiful in her new clothes as if

  she had been a lady of high birth. And how did all this come

  about? That would be too long a tale to tell in our busy time,

  but it really happened, and the most important events have yet

  to be told.

  It was pleasant and cheerful to live in the old place now:

  the mother superintended the household, and the father looked

  after things out-of-doors, and they were indeed very

  prosperous.

  Where honesty leads the way, prosperity is sure to follow.

  The old mansion was repaired and painted, the ditches were

  cleaned and fruit-trees planted; all was homely19 and pleasant,

  and the floors were as white and shining as a pasteboard. In

  the long winter evenings the mistress and her maids sat at the

  spinning-wheel in the large hall; every Sunday the counsellor-

  this title the pedlar had obtained, although only in his old

  days- read aloud a portion from the Bible. The children (for

  they had children) all received the best education, but they

  were not all equally clever, as is the case in all families.

  In the meantime the willow tree near the drawbridge had

  grown up into a splendid tree, and stood there, free, and was

  never clipped. "It is our genealogical tree," said the old

  people to their children, "and therefore it must be honoured."

  A hundred years had elapsed. It was in our own days; the

  lake had been transformed into marsh20 land; the whole baronial

  seat had, as it were, disappeared. A pool of water near some

  ruined walls was the only remainder of the deep ditches; and

  here stood a magnificent old tree with overhanging branches-

  that was the genealogical tree. Here it stood, and showed how

  beautiful a willow can look if one does not interfere21 with it.

  The trunk, it is true, was cleft22 in the middle from the root

  to the crown; the storms had bent it a little, but it still

  stood there, and out of every crevice23 and cleft, in which wind

  and weather had carried mould, blades of grass and flowers

  sprang forth. Especially above, where the large boughs24 parted,

  there was quite a hanging garden, in which wild raspberries

  and hart's-tongue ferns throve, and even a little mistletoe

  had taken root, and grew gracefully25 in the old willow

  branches, which were reflected in the dark water beneath when

  the wind blew the chickweed into the corner of the pool. A

  footpath which led across the fields passed close by the old

  tree. High up, on the woody hillside, stood the new mansion.

  It had a splendid view, and was large and magnificent; its

  window panes26 were so clear that one might have thought there

  were none there at all. The large flight of steps which led to

  the entrance looked like a bower27 covered with roses and

  broad-leaved plants. The lawn was as green as if each blade of

  grass was cleaned separately morning and evening. Inside, in

  the hall, valuable oil paintings were hanging on the walls.

  Here stood chairs and sofas covered with silk and velvet,

  which could be easily rolled about on castors; there were

  tables with polished marble tops, and books bound in morocco

  with gilt28 edges. Indeed, well-to-do and distinguished29 people

  lived here; it was the dwelling30 of the baron and his family.

  Each article was in keeping with its surroundings. "Everything

  in the right place" was the motto according to which they also

  acted here, and therefore all the paintings which had once

  been the honour and glory of the old mansion were now hung up

  in the passage which led to the servants' rooms. It was all

  old lumber31, especially two portraits- one representing a man

  in a scarlet32 coat with a wig17, and the other a lady with

  powdered and curled hair holding a rose in her hand, each of

  them being surrounded by a large wreath of willow branches.

  Both portraits had many holes in them, because the baron's

  sons used the two old people as targets for their crossbows.

  They represented the counsellor and his wife, from whom the

  whole family descended33. "But they did not properly belong to

  our family," said one of the boys; "he was a pedlar and she

  kept the geese. They were not like papa and mamma." The

  portraits were old lumber, and "everything in its right

  place." That was why the great-grandparents had been hung up

  in the passage leading to the servants' rooms.

  The son of the village pastor34 was tutor at the mansion.

  One day he went for a walk across the fields with his young

  pupils and their elder sister, who had lately been confirmed.

  They walked along the road which passed by the old willow

  tree, and while they were on the road she picked a bunch of

  field-flowers. "Everything in the right place," and indeed the

  bunch looked very beautiful. At the same time she listened to

  all that was said, and she very much liked to hear the

  pastor's son speak about the elements and of the great men and

  women in history. She had a healthy mind, noble in thought and

  deed, and with a heart full of love for everything that God

  had created. They stopped at the old willow tree, as the

  youngest of the baron's sons wished very much to have a flute

  from it, such as had been cut for him from other willow trees;

  the pastor's son broke a branch off. "Oh, pray do not do it!"

  said the young lady; but it was already done. "That is our

  famous old tree. I love it very much. They often laugh at me

  at home about it, but that does not matter. There is a story

  attached to this tree." And now she told him all that we

  already know about the tree- the old mansion, the pedlar and

  the goose-girl who had met there for the first time, and had

  become the ancestors of the noble family to which the young

  lady belonged.

  "They did not like to be knighted, the good old people,"

  she said; "their motto was 'everything in the right place,'

  and it would not be right, they thought, to purchase a title

  for money. My grandfather, the first baron, was their son.

  They say he was a very learned man, a great favourite with the

  princes and princesses, and was invited to all court

  festivities. The others at home love him best; but, I do not

  know why, there seemed to me to be something about the old

  couple that attracts my heart! How homely, how patriarchal, it

  must have been in the old mansion, where the mistress sat at

  the spinning-wheel with her maids, while her husband read

  aloud out of the Bible!"

  "They must have been excellent, sensible people," said the

  pastor's son. And with this the conversation turned naturally

  to noblemen and commoners; from the manner in which the tutor

  spoke35 about the significance of being noble, it seemed almost

  as if he did not belong to a commoner's family.

  "It is good fortune to be of a family who have

  distinguished themselves, and to possess as it were a spur in

  oneself to advance to all that is good. It is a splendid thing

  to belong to a noble family, whose name serves as a card of

  admission to the highest circles. Nobility is a distinction;

  it is a gold coin that bears the stamp of its own value. It is

  the fallacy of the time, and many poets express it, to say

  that all that is noble is bad and stupid, and that, on the

  contrary, the lower one goes among the poor, the more

  brilliant virtues36 one finds. I do not share this opinion, for

  it is wrong. In the upper classes one sees many touchingly

  beautiful traits; my own mother has told me of such, and I

  could mention several. One day she was visiting a nobleman's

  house in town; my grandmother, I believe, had been the lady's

  nurse when she was a child. My mother and the nobleman were

  alone in the room, when he suddenly noticed an old woman on

  crutches come limping into the courtyard; she came every

  Sunday to carry a gift away with her.

  "'There is the poor old woman,' said the nobleman; 'it is

  so difficult for her to walk.'

  "My mother had hardly understood what he said before he

  disappeared from the room, and went downstairs, in order to

  save her the troublesome walk for the gift she came to fetch.

  Of course this is only a little incident, but it has its good

  sound like the poor widow's two mites37 in the Bible, the sound

  which echoes in the depth of every human heart; and this is

  what the poet ought to show and point out- more especially in

  our own time he ought to sing of this; it does good, it

  mitigates and reconciles! But when a man, simply because he is

  of noble birth and possesses a genealogy38, stands on his hind

  legs and neighs in the street like an Arabian horse, and says

  when a commoner has been in a room: 'Some people from the

  street have been here,' there nobility is decaying; it has

  become a mask of the kind that Thespis created, and it is

  amusing when such a person is exposed in satire39."

  Such was the tutor's speech; it was a little long, but

  while he delivered it he had finished cutting the flute.

  There was a large party at the mansion; many guests from

  the neighbourhood and from the capital had arrived. There were

  ladies with tasteful and with tasteless dresses; the big hall

  was quite crowded with people. The clergymen stood humbly

  together in a corner, and looked as if they were preparing for

  a funeral, but it was a festival- only the amusement had not

  yet begun. A great concert was to take place, and that is why

  the baron's young son had brought his willow flute with him;

  but he could not make it sound, nor could his father, and

  therefore the flute was good for nothing.

  There was music and songs of the kind which delight most

  those that perform them; otherwise quite charming!

  "Are you an artist?" said a cavalier, the son of his

  father; "you play on the flute, you have made it yourself; it

  is genius that rules- the place of honour is due to you."

  "Certainly not! I only advance with the time, and that of

  course one can't help."

  "I hope you will delight us all with the little

  instrument- will you not?" Thus saying he handed to the tutor

  the flute which had been cut from the willow tree by the pool;

  and then announced in a loud voice that the tutor wished to

  perform a solo on the flute. They wished to tease him- that

  was evident, and therefore the tutor declined to play,

  although he could do so very well. They urged and requested

  him, however, so long, that at last he took up the flute and

  placed it to his lips.

  That was a marvellous flute! Its sound was as thrilling as

  the whistle of a steam engine; in fact it was much stronger,

  for it sounded and was heard in the yard, in the garden, in

  the wood, and many miles round in the country; at the same

  time a storm rose and roared; "Everything in the right place."

  And with this the baron, as if carried by the wind, flew out

  of the hall straight into the shepherd's cottage, and the

  shepherd flew- not into the hall, thither40 he could not come-

  but into the servants' hall, among the smart footmen who were

  striding about in silk stockings; these haughty41 menials looked

  horror-struck that such a person ventured to sit at table with

  them. But in the hall the baron's daughter flew to the place

  of honour at the end of the table- she was worthy42 to sit

  there; the pastor's son had the seat next to her; the two sat

  there as if they were a bridal pair. An old Count, belonging

  to one of the oldest families of the country, remained

  untouched in his place of honour; the flute was just, and it

  is one's duty to be so. The sharp-tongued cavalier who had

  caused the flute to be played, and who was the child of his

  parents, flew headlong into the fowl-house, but not he alone.

  The flute was heard at the distance of a mile, and strange

  events took place. A rich banker's family, who were driving in

  a coach and four, were blown out of it, and could not even

  find room behind it with their footmen. Two rich farmers who

  had in our days shot up higher than their own corn-fields,

  were flung into the ditch; it was a dangerous flute.

  Fortunately it burst at the first sound, and that was a good

  thing, for then it was put back into its owner's pocket- "its

  right place."

  The next day, nobody spoke a word about what had taken

  place; thus originated the phrase, "to pocket the flute."

  Everything was again in its usual order, except that the two

  old pictures of the peddlar and the goose-girl were hanging in

  the banqueting-hall. There they were on the wall as if blown

  up there; and as a real expert said that they were painted by

  a master's hand, they remained there and were restored.

  "Everything in the right place," and to this it will come.

  Eternity43 is long, much longer indeed than this story.

  THE END

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