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| - Translated from the Danish by Hanna Astrup Larsen and Published in Twelve stories as Røverstuen, 1827 IF YOU, dear reader, begin the perusal of a Danish book which, mind you, is not a translation, and if this book should find favor in your sight, then you will certainly propound the reasonable question, "Who has been this author's example and model?" For that a Danish writer--_in specie_ a poet--should have the temerity or self-confidence to venture out on the slippery ice of authorship without foreign guidance is neither conceivable nor advisable. If furthermore you read the critical reviews--_in specie--_the Danish Pasquino--you will be confirmed in your supposition; for in these reviews you will often read: "Our author has evidently formed himself on A. or B. or C.," and--if he is one of those bearing the stamp of approval--"Our poet has succeeded in capturing the spirit of D. or E. or F.," or--if he is one of the unprivileged--"This product is a poor imitation of G. or H. or I." Now then, if my little stories or--if you prefer--novelettes have pleased you, have you not asked yourself, "Who is this author's example and model? L ......... No, for that his heroes and heroines are not angelic enough. V . . d . . V . . . .? No, not that either! For that they are not devilish enough. Furthermore, he doesn't begin his chapters _ad modum'._ 'In his large-flowered green damask dressing gown, with the snow-white red-topped cotton nightcap on his venerable head, the eighty-five-year-old gentleman sat in his grandfather's chair, softly-cushioned with orange-yellow silken fleece,' etc., etc., or: 'On a spirited, chestnut-colored Arab, chewing its foam-flecked silver bridle, the wondrously beautiful maiden rode through the vaulted portal of the castle,'" etc., etc. "Is it possible," you ask further, "that our author may have formed himself on H ....... or R ...... or A . . .? No, for that his adventures are too reasonable, too credible and commonplace; he has too little commerce with ghosts, goblins, trolls, werewolves, vampires, and devils." "Who in the world can it be?" you persist. "It must be someone. W . , , , . S . . . .? On my word, that's the man!" Alas, dear kind reader, you have not found the right one even yet. You do me too much honor; his perfections are his own and neither I nor anyone else can take them away from him, and his faults--if he has any--I will leave to C ...... and others who can fill a sheet with the description of a shawl and how it is worn, writers who cannot introduce us into a peasant's hut without making vis acquainted with every chair in the room, every hen on its perch, every rag the innocent children have on, who wherever they convey us refuse to pass a stick or a stone in the road without making us read an elaborate description of it. After all, this Scotch manner pays better in other countries than here, where people would rather borrow books than pay for them, where lending libraries and reading societies see to it that authors should not leave their marriageable daughters manuscripts for a dowry. No, my esteemed reader, if I had followed this practice, we should still have been standing at Karup river, lost in contemplation of its heather-grown banks, or we should have followed its winding course with the accuracy of a surveyor right to the place where the Limfjord would have stopped our progress. If I had been S .... we should at this moment have been pleasantly employed in counting the brown spots on Niels Gamekeeper's white pointer (of whom we haven't yet said a single word) or the grouse in his game-bag. But--it cannot be otherwise--I gang my own gait, though crooked and unsteady. If you will follow me, I shall regard it as an honor and aj pleasure. Sometimes I stand still, then I walk, then I run, and once in a while I take a start and make a mighty leap, as now for example from Karup river to Aunsbjerg. And if you want to give me a pattern, let it be the author Siegfried von Lindenberg--in view of this long, chatty, parenthetic introduction. To sum up, A. and B. and C. have their peculiar beauties--which let them keep! And perhaps they are not entirely free from faults--what should I do with them? I have enough with my own. No, I would prefer that you should not say, "The voice is Jacob's voice, but the hands are the hands of Esau"; I would rather you should say, "It is Esau wholly and altogether." And if I should not always please you, if my Pegasus should sometimes run too fast, sometimes be balky, then kindly remember that it has not been trained by an equestrian artist, but has its own crochets, which neither you nor I can cure it of. Mount it, my honored friend, and ride with me in through Aunsbjerg gate and let us see what kind of an adventure--short or long, credible or incredible--we shall meet there. I seldom hear the word "manor house" without thinking of ghosts. These venerable remains of antiquity--once inhabited by doughty knights and decorous ladies, whom we think of as stern and serious, stiff as to dress and manner, rigid as to mind, hard and stark even in love--these fathom-thick walls, these long, dark, narrow passages, these vaulted cellars seem to us to invite the spirits of midnight; the wide, open fireplaces seem made for those airy creatures that would rather pass through the chimney than the door. Nor do I think there is any old manor house that does not harbor such nightly visitors, and that has not at least one gloomy chamber, a corner room or a tower closet, where everything is not as it should be and where no one likes to sleep alone. I am happy to state that Aunsbjerg is in this respect as well equipped as any manor house in the country; and I hope soon to see the night when I can treat my reader to a genuine phantasmagoria; but all in good time! Therefore I will now proceed with my story in chronological order. When the two riders had entered the gate to the farmyard, they turned toward the stable, the gamekeeper showing the way, and each unsaddled his own horse. From there they walked through the shady lane of lime trees up to the court in front of the manor. The house consisted of three wings. The main building to the left was two stories high and had an attic which enjoyed the designation "tower," perhaps because it was felt that no manor should be without a tower, and a name--as we know--is often enough to satisfy people. I have heard a room containing a bookcase and a score of books thickly covered with dust, a cupboard with bottles and glasses, a table with writing materials, and a cushioned easy chair called a "study." I have seen a cluster of a couple of hundred stunted trees called "the forest" and a carp pool called "the lake." In the same way a clothes cupboard is called a "wardrobe," a couple of peasant farms and half a score of houses an "estate," and the rent collector of this domain a "manager" or an "inspector." The central wing, which was also faced with brick but was only one story high, housed the numerous servants, from the bailiff to the boy that took care of the dogs. The right wing was the home of the tenant farmer. In the corner between the two stood the wooden horse, at that time just as indispensable in a manor house as the escutcheon of the noble house over the main portal. In the same moment when the gamekeeper opened the gate leading to the inner court, a window was opened on the ground floor of the main building, revealing a head and bust picture which I think I ought to describe in order to assist the reader--who has seen similar pictures painted--in guessing the period when the present events took place. The lord of the manor, whose heavy figure filled the broad window, was clad in a dark green velvet jacket with a row of buttons coming all the way up to the throat, large revers, and pockets with big buttons. A black periwig--not of the solidly built-up kind, but with a roll extending all around the head--concealed his hair entirely. The part of his dress that was visible consisted therefore of only two simple pieces, but inasmuch as his whole person will appear later, I had better, in order to avoid repetition, mention the other three parts of his costume; on top of the periwig he wore a tight-fitting green cap with a brim standing out to both sides, something like the black shovel-hat which parsons and afterwards parish clerks wore within the memory of men now living; his feet were covered with a pair of high, wide, spurred boots, and long black trousers of the kind that a few old peasants even in our time have worn under the name "rolled breeches," completed the visible part of his costume. "Niels!" the squire called. The gamekeeper showed his companion the door where he was to go in, and then, with his small three-cornered hat in his hand, stepped over to the window, where the honorable and well-born squire regularly, rain or shine, gave audience to the servants in the house and the tenant farmers on the estate. The gamekeeper here had to observe the same ceremony as everybody else, although when out hunting the relation between master and servant was less constrained; as long as that lasted, the strict rules of etiquette were suspended. "Who's that?" began the squire with a nod sideways in the direction of the stranger. 'The new clerk, my lord," was the answer. "Is that all? I thought it was somebody. What have you got there?" asked the squire nodding toward the game-bag. "The old cock and two chickens, my lord." (This "my lord" we will omit for the future, but it must be understood as following every remark.) "That isn't much after two days' hunting," said the squire. "Didn't you get any deer?" "Not this time," said Niels sighing. "When poachers use stags to ride on, there can't be any for us." This cryptic utterance of course required an explanation, but as the reader already has heard the story, we will direct our attention to what was going on behind the squire's broad back. There stood the young engaged couple, Junker Kaj and Mistress Mette. The young man was five-and-twenty, handsome, elegant, and perfectly dressed according to the latest mode. In order to show by what means a maiden's heart was attacked and conquered in those days, I must not neglect the account of the young man's outward appearance, and I will begin with the feet, in order to rise in my description. The said feet were encased in broad-nosed, low boots, the tops of which flopped in wide folds around the small of his legs. From them white silk stockings extended to a handbreadth above his knees, where they ended with a strip of the finest lace. Then came a pair of tight-fitting black velvet breeches, of which only a little was seen, because an enormously long vest, also of black velvet, came down over them. A coat of crimson cloth held together with a clasp over the frilled shirt front, with a rov_ of large covered buttons, and short sleeves reaching only to the wrist but having cuffs turned up to the elbow, completed his costume. All his hair was brushed smoothly into a long, stiff queue which was tied in the back of the neck. I should deserve but little thanks from my feminine readers if I did not with the same accuracy portray the gracious young lady, but in her case I can be more brief, summina; her up in three main articles: 1) The pointed, high-heeled, silver-buckled shoes; 2) the little red, gold-laced cap coming down in a tongue on her forehead and completely hiding her hair, which was brushed up under it; 3) the dress of damask with large flowers on a sky-blue ground, the sleeves coming only a little below the elbows, the waist long, but not tight-laced, and leaving the shoulders and bosom uncovered. To those who know and properly admire the beauty of the present styles it will seem inconceivable that a lady so attired could strike fire from a masculine heart, since the only attractive part of the picture was the bare shoulders and bosom; but I must add that Mistress Mette's face was really so exceedingly beautiful it might easily make one forget her clothes. These two handsome young people then stood behind the old gentleman, hand in hand, and--as it seemed--engaged in playful love-making. The young gentleman tried every little while to snatch a kiss, but the young lady just as often turned away her face, not exactly with aversion, but with an arch smile. The strangest part of it was that every time she bent her head back she glanced past her father into the court, although there was nothing to be seen (for the gamekeeper stood too near the wall under the window) except the wooden horse and the new clerk who, as soon as he had entered the office, seated himself by the window. The fact that, although he had the title of clerk, he was a handsome young man signified little, for in the first place he had a huge scar cutting across one cheek, and secondly, thirdly, fourthly, and fifthly, he was dressed simply as a clerk and nothing else. What this costume looked like I do not feel it is proper to relate, now that I have just described the costumes of persons of quality. Nor do I think it necessary to dwell long on Mistress Mette's mother, the good Mistress Kirsten, who sat by another window, contemplating with a pleased smile the amorous play of the two young people. The good old lady had every reason to be gratified at this match, since it was her own doing from first to last. In a whole herd of junkers--as the squire expressed it jokingly in the language of the chase--she had got the scent of the fattest, and was the first to give tongue after him. Inasmuch as the young man was an only child, heir to Palstrup and several other estates, and, as for his birth, had sixteen known ancestors, the marriage was soon decided upon by the parents and their decision announced to the children. The bridegroom, who had just returned from Paris when Mistress Kirsten sighted him, was well satisfied, and why should he not be? Mistress Mette was young and beautiful, an only child, heir to Aunsbjerg, where the deer, the wild boars, and the crofters were just as good as at Palstrup, while the grouse and ducks were much better. As for the bride, she was so perfectly submissive under the iron will of her parents that for the present we will leave unanswered the question of whether her own fancy turned to the young man. We know that the heart of a maiden prefers to make its own choice, and sometimes a suitor is rejected for no reason but that he is the choice of the parents. Nevertheless, if Junker Kaj is but the first, we need have no fears for him. After this--not wholly unnecessary--digression, we will go on with our story. When the gamekeeper had rendered an account of his mishap--which he did not dare to conceal, inasmuch as the clerk, the peasant boy who had acted as his guide, and even the stag rider himself might tell the tale--the squire, almost beside himself with rage, burst out into a torrent of the most heartfelt curses on the poacher; and during this rain of invective some drops fell on poor Niels, who in his fear of the angry master had to swallow his own equally hearty curses. As soon as the first gust of stormy wrath had subsided and given room to reflection, a plan was made for prompt and sufficient revenge: the audacious miscreant was to be seized and, as one easily convicted of poaching, was to be turned over to the arm of the law and, after proper procedure, sent to the prison of Bremerholm. But to catch him--there was the rub; for if he got the least wind of danger, he would flee and leave his wife and children behind him. The squire, who had been wounded in his tenderest spot, was for setting out immediately. There was enough left of the day to enable them to reach the hut of Black Mads at nightfall. But the mistress, whose revenge always showed more careful planning and more mature consideration, argued with her impetuous lord and master, saying that darkness would also aid the flight of the criminal or--if that were prevented--a desperate defense on his part. It would be better, therefore, to start a little after midnight; then the entire armed forces could encircle the hut at daybreak and conquer it. This proposal was unanimously adopted, and the visiting junker was invited to share the dangers and honors of the expedition. The bailiff of the estate, who came to report the arrival of the new clerk and to present his letter of recommendation from the bailiff of Vestervig, was ordered to hold himself in readiness together with the gardener, the overseer of the farm, and the stablemen, and was told to engage a peasant cart to follow the expedition.
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