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| - Translated from the Danish by Hanna Astrup Larsen and Published in Twelve stories as Røverstuen, 1827 WHO does not know--at least by name--this creature whose pranks almost always are just good-natured frolics? Who has not heard of his chubby little figure and his red Jacobin cap--symbol of uninhibited liberty? Who does not know that the house he chooses for his abode is perfectly safe from fires and other disasters? (In order not to forget it I will mention at once _in parenthesi_ that there is also a ship Nisse whose function it is to plan during the night--in a sort of shadow drawing--all the work that has to be done the next day: weigh anchor or cast it, hoist the sails or take them in, furl them, or reef them, which means a storm. He doesn't even think he is too good to swab the deck, but will do this humble work very nicely. Those who know him say that this _spiritus navalis_ shows his kinship with the house or land Nisse by his pranks. He turns the weather vane, blows out the light in the binnacle, teases the ship's dog, and if there is a passenger on board who is prone to seasickness, one can see the rogue with a heart-rending expression vomiting into the bucket. If the ship is about to be lost, he will jump overboard the night before it sails, and either climb on board another ship or swim ashore. Finally, I must remark that, inasmuch as very few people are privileged to see this airy sprite, his warnings are not often heeded.) The house Nisse, which is the one that concerns us especially, is a real blessing to the home which he honors by his presence-, it is safe against fire, storm, and thieves. Who then would be offended by the little fellow's capers? When sometimes he takes a ride on the horse in the stall, it is no doubt only in order to give the animal healthy exercise. When he milks a cow before the maid gets there, it is only to make her rise earlier in the morning. And even if he steals an egg in the hen-house once in a while, chases the cat in the attic, or upsets a chamber pot, who would be angry with him for that or begrudge him the dish of Christmas porridge which no thoughtful housewife fails to set out for him in a corner of the attic? It is only in case this is neglected that he shows a slight trace of vindictiveness. Then the housewife may be pretty sure that her porridge will be burned, or her soup will get bitter, or the ale will turn sour, or the milk won't curdle, or she can churn all day and not get butter. Well, then: such a little domestic hobgoblin had haunted Aunsbjerg from time immemorial and is probably haunting it yet, although it would seem that this manor was not his only place of abode, for sometimes years would pass in which no one would notice him at all. But just at the time of our story he seemed to have resumed his doings--or undoings, if you prefer. The gardener would occasionally miss some of his loveliest flowers or several of the largest and ripest peaches; the strangest part of it was that both would sometimes in the morning be found in Mistress Mette's chamber, from which one would naturally conclude that the lady stood very high in the favor of said Nisse. Furthermore, the stablemen declared that many a night there was something wrong with the horses and in the morning one of them would be as dirty as if it had been used for a long, wild ride. They vowed--and who would doubt them?--that they had often run out into the stable, but then everything had all of a sudden been perfectly quiet. Once only they had thought they caught a glimpse of the unlucky red cap, and after that they did not mix in the affairs of the Nisse, which was certainly wise on their part. Weight was added to these tales when Niels Gamekeeper, one night he came home from Viborg and was neither drunk nor crazy, nevertheless had not been able to find the road from Demstrup to the manor, although it was straight as a string, and there was moonlight. Whether he wanted to or not, he was forced out into the elder bog, where the red cap several times peeped out between the stems of the trees. As he was a brave man, he called out to the sprite, but every time he opened his mouth he would fall, and then he would hear a ghastly laughter that sounded like the cackling of a black cock or the neighing of a horse-snipe. When at last, with clothes muddy and torn, he had managed to get out of the boggy wood, he heard behind him the treating of the roe deer, and the whistling of the gambet, although it was not the mating season for either roe deer or snipe. Such exceptionable testimony did not fail to make an impression on the personnel of the manor, especially the feminine part of it. And even the squire himself received such tidings in thoughtful silence. Such was the state of things when the expedition against Black Mads was undertaken, an event which made an epoch in the history of Aunsbjerg and for years to come was used as a point to measure history from, as thus: "It was the same year that we went hunting for Black Mads," or "It was two, or it was three years after," etc. Those who remained at home waited all day with tense expectation for news of the attacking army. Noon came--evening--midnight--and yet nothing was seen or heard of it. They consoled themselves by thinking that perhaps the culprit had been taken directly from his home to Viborg; in that case the day might have gone, and after such an exhausting march it was only fair that the troops should be given an evening's refreshment and a night's rest in town. With this plausible hypothesis both the family and the servants went to-bed, and only one servant kept watch. Finally, an hour after midnight, Junker Kaj and his groom returned. But before I go on, it would be most proper to explain the reason for their late return and the failure of the others to come at all. The poacher's hut, which he himself had built in the most primitive fashion with walls of green turf, and roof of heather resting on rafters made of oak branches bent and tied together, had an excellent strategic position considered as a fortress. Right in the middle of a great bog measuring fully eight miles in circumference, there rose a little hillock which was never under water even in the most violent sudden thaws, and to which at least no horseman could come except by way of a narrow strip of firm land that went winding among turf-pits and quagmires. On this hillock Black Mads had built his idyllic house, and there he with wife and four children lived by the chase. The larger game animals were eaten fresh, salted, or smoked. The smaller were sold secretly together with the skins of deer and foxes, and for the money they bought bread and salt. Milk the wife and children begged of the farmers in the neighborhood. The day was beginning to break when the Aunsbjerg squire and his army reached the bog. Niels Gamekeeper, who knew the locality, rode ahead and successfully led the united forces to the place where the hut was supposed to be. No hut was to be seen, and yet there was light enough to see it if it had been there. The first thing Niels had recourse to--as usual with him in all trouble and bewilderment--was a long and vigorous oath. The squire, who rode up to learn what had occasioned this heartfelt outpouring, gave his gamekeeper an equally heartfelt good-morning, and accused him of having lost his way and taken them to the wrong place. But Niels, who was sure of his point, declared and even called a dozen of the black angels to witness that the hut was there, but that Mads had made it invisible, no doubt with the aid of his good friend of the horse's hoof, for he certainly knew how to bedevil your eyesight. The squire was almost ready to accept this explanation as the most plausible, when Junker Kaj, who had ridden ahead, exclaimed, "There's been a fire here!" At that all crowded in, and soon they discovered that the hut was reduced to an ash heap in which a few embers still smouldered. This discovery led Niels to the conclusion that "the said long-tailed person had taken him and his whole brood." Junker Kaj, however, was of the opinion that Mads had himself first burned down the hut and then fled. During this debate it had become full daylight; the site of the fire was searched, but nothing was found except ashes, embers, bits of coal, and charred bones which the hunters identified as those of deer. Acting on the hypothesis of the junker, they decided to search the surrounding heaths, for after all the fugitive with family and baggage could not have gone very far. With this in view, the pursuers were divided into four parties to scour the country in all four quarters. Junker Kaj with his groom and one other man chose the eastern way, possibly to be nearer Aunsbjerg and his ladylove; but all his efforts were fruitless, he rode hither and thither, exhausting himself, his men, and his horses, but all in vain. Sometimes he thought he saw something moving in the distance, but closer investigation proved it to be sheep or stacks of heath turf. Once he was sure that he saw human beings just about in the spot where the German church now stands, but the nearer he approached, the more indistinct grew the figures, and at last they disappeared entirely. The groom explained this optical illusion by telling an old legend: in olden times a battle had been fought here, and the spirits of the fallen would sometimes re-enact the bloody game. As a herdsboy he had often at sunrise seen whole regiments marching, mounted officers dashing up and down before the ranks, enemy armies mixing and fighting, now one forced back, now the other. In his grandfather's time they had even been able to hear the commands of the officers, the blaring of trumpets, the clashing of arms, the cries of the wounded. But the junker, who had heard something about fata morgana and who at sea had witnessed similar phenomena, laughed at his visionary servant, and in his heart cursed the black poacher and all his descendants to the fourth generation. Unfortunately the organizers of this ill-fated excursion had forgotten--which sometimes happens in more important wars--to provide that necessary foundation for heroism, food. One third of Junker Kaj's division was therefore sent out to forage, but when evening came and the man had not returned, the starving young gentleman decided to turn his face homeward. But this was more easily said than done, for the horses were just as exhausted and just as hungry and thirsty as the riders. They made very slow progress and did not get out of the heath before darkness fell. The result was that they lost their way and did not get to Aunsbjerg till after midnight. In order to avoid doubling on my tracks again, I will now briefly relate what happened to the other three divisions. They had just as poor luck and found nothing of what they were looking for. In vain they searched every peat bog; in vain they encircled every valley and hollow, every mound and hill; in vain they questioned people in all the near-by villages and farms: no one had seen or heard anything of Black Mads. The day passed, and it became necessary to look for a place to spend the night. The squire himself landed at Rydhauge, where he spent two pleasant days shooting grouse before he returned to his home. My honored readers, particularly my feminine readers, as many of you as start to read this true story! for your own sake I advise you: do not read what follows alone or by candlelight; but if you are several in company, it would do no harm if you would draw as close together as possible--we are going to have a ghost story! When the tired junker had satisfied his hunger, he began to think of sleep. He ordered the servant to light him to his bedchamber, but as the man was about to open the door, the key broke and the nib remained stuck in the lock. What could now be done? To curse the door, the lock, the key, the locksmith, the servant, and--for good measure--Black Mads was tried, but did not help the situation. To remove the lock would require hammer and screwdriver and would besides make a noise that would rouse the household. Of what use then that he had been so quiet and--in order not to disturb the sleep of the ladies---had been satisfied with a piece of cold roast meat which the servant had managed to procure for him in some secret way! In such cases the first impulse is often the best, and the servant was ready with his advice. "The tower room," he said in a low voice and with an uncertain look at his young master. At the mention of this well-known but ill-famed room, Junker Kaj shuddered slightly, but he tried to conceal his fear both from the servant and from himself by a forced smile, and by the question, thrown out in an indifferent tone, as to whether the bed was made up? The answer was Yes, for the mistress always kept a bed made up in the room for emergency, though in the memory of man it had never been used. She herself kept the keys of the other guest rooms, but thought such a precaution unnecessary in this case, since there was nothing in the room but a bed, a couple of chairs, and a table, and besides the ghostly safeguard was sufficient protection against thieves. Evidently no excuses or objections could be brought forward. So Junker Kaj allowed himself to be shown to the room. The servant undressed him, left the candle on the table, and went away, shutting the door after him. It was a dark autumn night. The waning moon was approaching the last quarter; its curved half-circle stood low in the heavens, and shone in through the tall, narrow, arched window which was the only one in the room. The wind was blowing; small clouds were scudding quickly, one might almost say in measured time, across the moon; their shadows slipped like pictures in a _camera clara_ over the white wall and disappeared in the stove. The leaded window clattered under the gusts; the wind whistled and howled in the panes; the chimney rumbled; the door of the stove rattled. Junker Kaj was no coward; indeed his heart was pretty much in the right place. But the quality we call courage is quite relative, and just as varied in its manifestations as the circumstances that call it forth. Many a warrior who faces shot and bayonets without trembling will feel his heart pounding if he tries to enter a church alone and in the dark. He who bravely seizes a banner from the enemy ranks could perhaps not be persuaded to fetch at midnight the missal from the altar or a skull from the charnel house. The soldier who stands firm on land may perhaps tremble on the unaccustomed, terrible ocean. And the sailor who laughs at storm and waves may become very serious among guns and sabres. He who commands a regiment may not have courage to command a wife, and another who keeps his wife under the lash may shrink timidly before the eye of an angry man. There are those who fear nothing but their own conscience; others know how to subdue this rebel, though in all other respects they are timid as hares. Nor was the courage of our young gentleman whole and perfect. He was not afraid to meet his adversary or to ride his horse--even if it were a Bucephalus--in short, he feared no living, or rather, no physical creature, but for spirits he had a great deal of respect. The hour, the circumstances, and particularly the ill-repute of the room sent his blood coursing more quickly, and all the ghost stories he had heard forced themselves uninvited on his heated imagination--Phantasus and Morpheus struggled for possession of him, and the first was in the ascendant. He did not dare to close his eyes, but stared constantly at the opposite wall, where the formless shadows seemed to take on shape and meaning. Under such circumstances it is a comfort to have one's back free and to face all one's enemies. He therefore sat up, drew the curtain away from the head of .the bed, and looked around. The bed stood in a corner; at its feet, though a little farther on, was the window. Right in front of the bed was the one wide wall, the stove, and behind it the door. His eyes passed on to the rear wall. There hung an ancient portrait of a doughty knight clad in mail, with a face as large as a pumpkin framed in thick, waving black hair. This picture held his searching gaze. It appeared and then vanished again, as the clouds left the moon clear or hid it. In the light the face seemed to broaden in a smile; in the shadow, it shrank in sinister gloom. Perhaps a former owner of the manor, which had passed to strangers after the extinction of his own family, had been relegated to this obscure corner, and perhaps his nightly visits were in revenge for the indifferent and contemptuous treatment accorded him by late comers. Like the shadows on the wall, courage and fear chased each other through the soul of the junker. At last by main force he made his courage prevail, lay down, and gave himself completely into the hands of Morpheus. When greatly exhausted one does not always sleep well. He had slept perhaps only half an hour when he was wakened by a noise as of a rusty doorlock. Startled, he opened his eyes; they fell on the door opposite, where a white figure appeared and vanished almost in the same moment--the door closed with a slight creaking noise. A numbing chill passed over his head, such as we express by saying that one's hair stands on end. Nevertheless he mastered his fear; his imagination had not yet got the better of his cool common sense. "It may have been the servant," he thought, "who--though undressed--wanted to see if the candle had been put out." His mind somewhat set at rest by this idea, he withdrew his gaze, but then it fell on the window where he saw the dark upper half of a human figure. The outline of the head and shoulders was quite clear and the edges were touched by the light of the moon. It seemed to be turning its back to the room. Fear got the upper hand and almost stopped his breathing. The figure sighed, lifted one hand, and wrote something on the window pane. Then the courage of the junker vanished. Like Belshazzar, his "countenance was changed, and his thoughts troubled him, so that the joints of his loins were loosed, and his knees smote one against another." What was to be done? Flight could not be thought of; for if he went out of the door he might run into an ambush; the window defended itself, and other exits he had not seen. True, there was one other refuge which many people might resort to in such circumstances--to crawl under the coverlet; but it is well known that some ghosts are cruelly playful enough to pull the coverlet down on the ground, and I cannot therefore absolutely recommend this expedient. Our young gentleman either did not know about it, or he was ashamed to .use it. In fact his natural courage once more rose to such a height that he challenged the figure with a "Who's there?" At this call, it made a sudden turn, but did not answer; after a few seconds it sank slowly beneath the window, and then nothing more was seen or heard. No lost wayfarer can long more ardently for the light of day than did the poor junker. He dared not shut his eyes for fear that when he opened them again he would see something that he did not wish to see. He went on staring anxiously at the door, the stove, and the window; he listened with more and more tense expectation, but he heard nothing except the soughing of the wind, the rattling of the windowpanes, and his own breathing. At last day broke, and as soon as it was light enough to distinguish all the objects in the room, he got up and searched it with the greatest care. In vain: he found no traces of the nocturnal visitors. The doors of the stove were closed, the door to the room likewise; the windows were fastened with all their hasps, and any other exits he had not seen. So he had conviction brought home to him, and hurried to leave this disturbed lodging, sincerely determined that he would never more set his foot there. As soon as the family had gathered at the breakfast table and Junker Kaj had given a report of the luckless expedition, the mistress of the house asked him the natural question as to how he had slept after all this toil and moil. "Very well," was the answer. Mistress Mette smiled. "Didn't you sleep in the tower room? I thought my maid said something about it." Junker Kaj said Yes, but not wishing his fiancee to know how frightened he had been, he felt the need of denying his nocturnal acquaintances. The young lady seemed equally bent on forcing a confession from him. She declared she "could see by his eyes that he had not slept, and he looked very pale." In order to make an end of this painful examination, he declared the maligned room to be quite purified, and added that she could very well sleep there herself if she dared. "Then," she said laughing, "I believe I will try it some time." With that the subject was exhausted and the conversation turned to other matters. After the return of the old gentleman, several days passed before the subject of the tower room was brought up again. First everybody was fully occupied with devising, presenting, and discussing all the different ways in which Black Mads could have been caught, and in surmising where he was most likely to be hiding. Then a long time was spent in narrating circumstantially and in detail the story of the two days' grouse-hunting at Rydhauge. When this subject too was exhausted--that is, when the full history of every bird shot or missed had been told, satisfactory explanations made of every miss, expert comparisons of dogs and guns threshed out, etc., etc.--then Mistress Mette led the conversation to the ill-reputed room, telling her father that her fiancé had slept there and calling attention to his unusually serious expression. In this second examination he had two inquisitors, and the young lady especially pressed him so hard with her roguish teasing that at last he thought it best to take back his former denial and confess that he would not care to sleep there again. "Is that befitting a cavalier," said the young lady, "to be afraid of a shadow? I am only a woman, and yet I'll try to stand such an adventure." "I'll wager my sorrel," answered Junker Kaj, "that you don't dare to!" "I'll put up my Bella against it!" she cried. They thought she was joking, but when she insisted on carrying out the wager, both her father and her fiance tried to dissuade her from such a dangerous undertaking. She was not to be moved. Now Junker Kaj felt that he had to make a clean breast of it all. The old gentleman shook his head. Mistress Mette laughed and said he had dreamt it, and in order to convince him, she felt more than ever bound to fulfill her promise. The old gentleman, whose fatherly pride was flattered by his daughter's courage, now gave his consent. All that Junker Kaj gained was the promise that a bell-rope should be placed near her bed, and that her maid should sleep on a cot in the same room. On the other hand, the young lady exacted the promise that all the people in the house should stay in their beds, in order that no one should say the ghost had been scared away, and that no one should have a candle lit after eleven o'clock. Her father and her fiancé were to take up their quarters in the so-called gold guest-chamber, which had access to the tower room by a long passage. The bell with which the young lady could ring the alarm if need be was to be in their room. The mother--no less heroic than her daughter--willingly gave her consent to the adventure.
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