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| - Translated from the Danish by Hanna Astrup Larsen and Published in Twelve stories as Ak, hvor forandret, 1828 IT would be a pity to say that life was formal at the old manor house; of the old nobility's pomp and stateliness there was nothing left but the bare walls, and the present owner had not even the graces and dignity of a valet. Not that he lacked haughtiness or vanity--by no means! But it was not the noble pride that is based on parchments, genealogical trees, ribbons and decorations. Mr. Lammestrup was proud of his money and of nothing else. He had a measuring rod of silver by which he classified everybody without respect of persons; a beggarly tradesman ranked exactly as a beggared nobleman. A good man, according to his linguistic usage and that of the neighborhood, was synonymous with a rich man; a poor man was the same as a villain. I have still a vivid picture in my mind of his big, stout person standing at the door to receive us, his hands under his coat tails. His fat, shiny face grinned at us with a self-satisfied and cunning expression, but he didn't stir from the spot till we were all out of the carriage. Then he extended his broad fist slowly, gave first Chamber-Counsellor Svirum (Argus' companion on the hunt) his whole hand and then Mr. Ruricolus two fingers; we two young men got a nod between us. "Have you seen my bullocks?" were the first words I heard from his lips. "Then, deuce take it, you must see them--they're no wooden-shoes--come, they're standing right outside the yard here." As he spoke, he put his hands in his pockets again and waddled ahead. The counsellor and the pastor followed him full of reverent anticipation, but young Ruricolus and I stood there without quite knowing what to do. Mr. Lammestrup half turned when he was midway across the courtyard, and called out to us, "You young fellows, I suppose, don't care for such things. You can go in to the women meanwhile." We did so. It was unlucky that one of them should absorb my attention so completely that I had no eyes for anyone else, but this one was really a _non plus ultra_ of rural beauty. I saw at first glance that she was perfect of her type. Such a wealth of charm, blooming, buxom, and yet formed on lines of perfect beauty, I felt I had never seen before. My reader must not imagine a round, chubby, strutting dairymaid! No Miss Flamborough or Betsy Bounce, who without stinting could each be divided into two young ladies! No, Miss Lammestrup was truly a model of graceful proportions both as to her face and figure. And as for her soul, believe me, dear reader, I am not speaking ironically when I say that this Jutland Maren possessed unusual culture, which I easily discovered after a few brief conversations. She had read and been moved by her La Fontaine, and I had only to mention "Lotte" and "Marianne" to bring tears into her heavenly clear eyes. Besides these perfections, she danced like an elf, sang like an angel, and played with taste and skill on her piano--probably the only instrument of its kind to be found in the whole of Vendsyssel. In what hothouse this fair field flower had been thus improved I cannot say, but one thing is sure--that Mr. and Mrs. Lammestrup had no part in it. I have already said--and no one can now wonder at it--that I immediately gave this excellent girl my heart. But I will add: I am not in the habit of giving away my apple before I have a pear in sight, and on this occasion I felt that I could expect a fair exchange, for not only did her beautiful eyes brighten with pleasure when they first beheld my person, but gradually I detected several signs of a budding passion, among which I will mention only the most conspicuous. In the first place, I noticed that when I struck my favorite attitude (knees bent, the left one quite far in front of the right, right hand on my hip, left fist in my side with elbow bent forward, shoulders also thrown forward and slightly raised, head bent, eyes wide open, upper lip drawn up toward the nose, giving a look of pride--what the French call _dédaigneux--_something like a soldier in a bayonet charge) when I stood in this position, she secretly whispered to one of the other girls, glanced at me, and smiled. Secondly, when we came out in the hayfield where we were to earn our share of the supper by forming a haycock, and took the occasion to throw hay at each other, I was almost entirely spared, while my friend Hans Mikkel was made the victim. My sweet Maren threw the first handful of hay at his head, and all the other girls followed suit. He resisted, and I came to his aid like a brother. In vain! The madcap females stormed in at him alone. He stumbled, and in a moment he was buried under a mountain of hay, and with that we had lost the battle. I was really sorry for the vanquished one when I saw him standing there brushing his nice clothes and picking bits of straw and moss off them, while the seven Amazons stood around him and laughed; but none laughed louder than my roguish Maren. Third and most evident sign of the dear girl's love I noticed during the dance. I can say that I had acquired great facility in the figures that were then the mode. They called for great wagging of the posterior with long leaps and vigorous throwing out of the legs while the head was bent to one side over the shoulder and in this position used to butt one's way through a closely packed crowd. In this I had no equal; I could leap as much as four or six feet, and my fellow dancers took good care not to come too near me. But of course this exercise was rather violent and threw me into a perspiration. The blessed girl noticed how exhausted I was at the end of our first dance, and when I asked her for the next--which was a waltz--she excused herself in the kindest, most courteous manner--and why? Simply from delicate consideration for me. She had no such compassion on Hans Mikkel, for she allowed him to lead her away at once. With secret joy I saw how the little minx kept it up with the very last couple, only to tire him out and in one day defeat him twice--in the ballroom as on the hay-field. But I am sure it is unnecessary to cite more proofs; it must be clear to everyone what was the state of Maren Lammestrup's innocent little heart. I rightly considered it as my property, but I purposely postponed the mutual declaration; it's so nice to have something to look forward to
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