Mårbacka/Part 5, Chapter 9
It is not easy to say how the seventeenth of August, which was Lieutenant Lagerlöf's birthday, came to be the great day that it was. But one can imagine that with so many gifted persons all living in a little place like East Åmtervik, it was really necessary that they should have a chance, at least once a year, to show what they could do.
When, for example, there were three such fine orators as Engineer Noreen of Herrestad, Senator Nils Andersson of Bavik, and Merchant Teodor Nilsson of Visteberg, the first of whom went in for the pathetic, the second for the profound, and the third for the poetic, it would have been a great pity had they never been heard elsewhere than at small parties and town meetings.
And with a verse writer, too, like Sexton Melanoz at one's command! Days on end he had to sit in the schoolroom and hear the youngsters spell, stammer, and stumble through the intricate mazes of the Swedish language. Surely he needed to let this maltreated tongue ring out in high-sounding eulogistic measures once a year at least!
Then, moreover, there was a male quartette in the parish composed of such good singers as Gustaf and Jan Asker, of the old musical Askers, and the brothers Alfred and Tage Schullström, who kept a store down by the church. People were thankful to them whenever they sang; but for the singers themselves it must have been both stimulating and inspiring to sing at a grand affair where they had critical and discriminating hearers.
And the old man Asker, who played dance music at peasant weddings where nobody cared what came forth from the clarinet just so it had dash and rhythm—he must indeed have been glad to come to Mårbacka on a seventeenth of August! The young folk there appreciated his art, and told him there was no music in the world so easy to dance to as his.
Then, too, there was a brass sextette made up of Tage Schullström, Sergeant Johan Dalhgren, the Gårdsjö Inspector, a shop-clerk and two infant-school teachers. They had all invested in instruments and scores, and had rehearsed marches and waltzes, overtures and folk-songs. It would have been too bad not to have had one gala day, when their efforts were crowned by the award of triumph.
When, besides, among the relatives who spent their summers at Mårbacka there were two clever entertainers like Oriel Afzelius, husband of Fru Lagerlöf's sister, and her own brother, Kristofer Wallroth, it was well that away off here in the farming country there was a fête on a grand enough scale to tempt them to perform.
Moreover, among the guests was a born prima donna, the pretty and merry Stockholmer, Fru Hedda Hedberg, who could act as well as sing, and was in every way adapted for the stage. But she had married a poor Värmland lieutenant. Therefore, one may well say it was almost imperative that there should be a seventeenth of August celebration where all this wealth of talent might come into its own.
After Lieutenant Lagerlöf became master of Mårbacka, for the first few years the seventeenth of August was observed in the customary birthday manner; there were flowers on the coffee table and a garland of leaves round the Lieutenant's cup. The neighbours dropped in to wish him many happy returns of the day, and were served with coffee, fruit juice, punch, and toddy. Then came supper at nine o'clock with the usual light chatter. After the meal, tables and chairs were removed from the living room that all might have a bit of a dance.
But somehow it must have been spread abroad that these little birthday parties were rather pleasant affairs. Since there was never any thought of sending out invitations, all who cared to come were welcome; so from year to year more and more folk gathered at Mårbacka.
And there were increases in the families, of course. As soon as the little ones began to toddle, they had to come along to Mårbacka to celebrate Lieutenant Lagerlöf's birthday. And sometimes the neighbours, who always attended these parties, had guests at home, and, naturally, they brought them.
In those days, when the young gentlemen would go many a mile for the sake of a dance, they, too, began to pay their respects to Lieutenant Lagerlöf on the seventeenth of August. Besides, there were the relatives from other parts of the country who visited Mårbacka every summer, and they planned their trips so as to be present on the Lieutenant's birthday.
As it was always fine weather on the seventeenth of August, in the Lieutenant's lifetime, the guests would while away the time strolling about the grounds, viewing his gardens and buildings. If many young people were present, the dancing would begin before supper. Everyone, no doubt, had a pleasant enough time, though no more so than at other parties.
Then happily Lieutenant Adolf Hedberg and his pretty young wife came to live at East Ämtervik. At Lieutenant Lagerlöf's next birthday party an old peasant woman with a basket of eggs to sell stalked into the kitchen in the midst of the festivities.
She was immediately ordered out, of course; no one had time to stop and buy eggs in the bustle and excitement, with so many guests to be served. Not in the least discouraged, the old woman went round to the veranda, where the Lieutenant sat with a circle of gentlemen. Indeed she was not embarrassed by the presence of the company; her tongue wagged so rapidly and she was so facetiously persistent, he had to buy her eggs to get rid of her. Even after she had stuffed the money into the pocket of her kirtle, she would not go. Then she wanted to know who the other gentlemen were, and commented rather freely on their personal appearance. Finally, young Lieutenant Hedberg, who thought the joke had gone far enough, said:
"You'd better stop now, Hedda."
Whereupon the "old peasant woman" rushed up, and dealt him a sound box on the ear.
"Why, Adolph!" she cried, "how can you be so mean as to give me away like that!"
And indeed it was a shame, for her disguise was so perfect and her Värmland dialect so deliciously natural that none would have taken her for the charming lady from Stockholm.
That bit of drollery set the ball of talents rolling. Along in the evening Kristofer Wallroth sang a number of Eric Bögh's ditties. He had no voice to speak of, but his rendition of the serio-comic was side-splitting. At the end. Auditor Afzelius, with a silk kerchief bound round his head and a mantilla thrown over his shoulder, sang "Emilie's Heart-throbs." That was, of course, the star feature of the evening; the Auditor was inimitable in the role of the lovelorn maiden.
It must have been rather galling to the local pride of Sexton Melanoz that only these city folk provided entertainment for the Lieutenant and his guests. But the next year it was the sexton who made the "big hit." The Lieutenant had once presented to the Ottenby school a lot of small wooden muskets made at Mårbacka so that the children might learn to drill. He had even sent an old sergeant to the school to teach the youngsters the first military movements.
The sexton had an inspiration; he and his school children would march to Mårbacka on the Lieutenant's birthday! Shouldering their arms, and led by banner and drum, they came marching along the driveway. It looked as if a whole army were approaching. There were so many the line extended from the manservants' cottage all the way up to the dwelling-house veranda, where the sexton, who was in command, called Halt!
First, he said a few words to the effect that the children had come to thank Lieutenant Lagerlöf for considering that their bodies needed to be developed as well as their minds; then he let them demonstrate how well they could march—do right-about, left-about, close ranks, shoulder arms…
It was a grand surprise the sexton had prepared for them all. The Lieutenant was delighted and his guests were pleased. What the old housekeeper, Mamselle Lovisa, and Fru Lagerlöf thought, when in the middle of a big party they had to serve coffee and cakes to some sixty youngsters, may be left to the imagination. After that, every time the seventeenth of August came round, they remembered with dismay the long procession of children, and hoped the sexton's army would not be so strong this year.
Engineer Noreen and his wife, like the sexton, had felt it was not fair to let folk from outside the parish furnish all the amusement for the seventeenth of August. So along in the evening, when there was a moon, the Engineer donned a black velvet cape and plumed baretta, and Fru Emelie an old-time dress with high puffed sleeves. Then, on the gravel-walk below the veranda, they gave two or three scenes from Börjesson's "Eric XIV." This acting in the mellow moonlight was touched with enchantment. Eric Noreen had so wholly lived himself into the rôle of the unhappy King, it seemed as if every word he spoke came straight from his heart. And Fru Noreen looked sweet and shy and just a bit frightened, as a "Karin Månsdotter" should look.
At the next year's celebration there were more people than ever. Carriages, pony-carts, and chaises came rolling up the avenue. In a short space of time some seventy or eighty persons had arrived. It was evident the report had travelled far and wide that they had many delightful diversions at Mårbacka not to be found elsewhere.
This time the Lieutenant felt quite embarrassed, as there was nothing special to offer the guests. It was just as at any other party; the young folk began to dance in the early afternoon, the paterfamilias chatted over their toddy glasses, and the maters sat in the drawing room nibbling fruit and confectionery. Apparently, no one was bored, for Auditor Afzelius and Dean Hammargren among the men and Hedda Hedberg and Nana Hammargren among the women knew how to enliven a company. The Lieutenant noted no mysterious glances nor any signs of preparation. Not even the usual birthday speech was forthcoming.
Then as dusk was falling, folk from all the countryside came flocking to Mårbacka. The avenue leading to the house was soon black with people. The Lieutenant thought it a pity they had taken the trouble to come when there was nothing to be seen.
After supper there was a little flutter of excitement and expectancy among the guests. Presently two gentlemen placed before the Lieutenant a flower-decked armchair, and bade him be seated. Instantly strong arms lifted him on high. Jan Asker struck up a march; the gentlemen offered their arms to the ladies, and all marched out into the night. But not for long did they walk in darkness. When they turned the corner of the house, the whole garden was a-light with row upon row of magic lanterns. The Lieutenant was borne along illuminated walks down to the little park. It was the first time anything of the sort had been attempted at Mårbacka. He was struck with wonder and amazement at the beauty of the scene. Could this be the ground that he and the old gardener had staked and measured only a few years back?
Exclamations of delight came from all sides. How dark and mysterious the copses; how deep and endless the paths appeared under their canopy of leaves; how the flowers shimmered and shone in the light of the multi-coloured lanterns; how the masses of foliage hung down from the trees like gorgeous draperies!
The procession halted in one of the glades of the park. The Lieutenant's chair was set down; and, as his dazzled eyes blinked into a grotto of leaves and flowers, Flora, on a pedestal, encircled by little nymphs, sang in a glorious voice a song of praise to the creator of the garden.
"Oh, Hedda!" the Lieutenant cried to the beautiful goddess of flowers, "I might have known that you would not forget me!"
It is about four in the afternoon of a seventeenth of August. The two smaller girls, Selma and Gerda, are dressing for the party. The housemaid pokes her head into the attic storeroom—the room the little girls are occupying temporarily, since their own has been placed at the convenience of visiting relatives.
"Selma and Gerda, you'll have to go down and receive," shouts the maid. "No one else is ready, and the first carriages are coming up the drive."
Now the little girls have to hurry; but at the same time they are thrilled with joy. Just think! It's beginning—the seventeenth of August is beginning!
They button up their frocks, pin on their kerchief rosettes, and run down. Not a grown person in sight! Not even their elder sister can help them receive, since she is attending a dress rehearsal of the evening's play.
The first arrivals, Herr Nilsson, his wife and four children, are already seated on the veranda. They always come too early to parties, but never so much so as on the seventeenth of August. The little girls do not wonder at that; for everyone must long to come to Mårbacka on such a day.
The time seems a bit long, perhaps, to the guests and their little hostesses before the next vehicle rolls up and the homefolk put in an appearance. But to-day is the Seventeenth, and one does not catch at trifles.
The next arrivals are Pastor Alfred Unger and family from West Ämtervik. They come in a two-horse carriage and have driven about thirteen English miles. The wagon is full of women and children; the parson himself, who is a real horseman, is handling the reins. Lieutenant Lagerlöf, ready at last, comes out on the veranda as the pastor drives in on the grounds.
"Say, Alfred!" he shouts, "what the deuce have you done to your horses? They're as like as two blackberries."
"Chut, chut! You mustn't betray any secrets on your birthday," Pastor Unger shouts back.
As a matter of fact, the parson had two fine carriage horses which would have been exactly alike but for a white spot on the forehead of one of them. He had hit upon the idea of inserting between the blinder-straps of each a piece of white leather, to make it appear that the horses were perfectly matched. No one would have detected the artifice if the pastor had not been so proud of his device that he had talked of it to right and left, and of course the Lieutenant had heard all about it.
But besides this conveyance from West Ämtervik comes a hayrick packed full of young people, relatives from Karlstad. Then wagon after wagon draws up. Here come the Gårdsjö folk—most delightful of guests! They have a long line of vehicles. They are a large family, and besides themselves they have brought Oriel and Georgina Afzelius, and Kristofer Wallroth and his young sister, Julia, who are staying with them.
In one of the Gårdsjö wagons there are some odd looking large white bundles, to be taken upstairs to the theatre. Selma and Gerda are very curious to know what those are for. The little Wallroth girls are sworn to secrecy; all they dare divulge is that Uncle Oriel has thought of something perfectly gorgeous.
Then who should come up but old Engineer Ivan Warberg from Angersby, with a cartful of pretty girls! A jubilant whoop from the veranda! What, a confirmed old bachelor like Ivan Warberg? Who would have thought it! They all know, to be sure, that the girls are his nieces, and his guests for the summer; but they can't resist the fun of teasing Ivan a bit.
The little Lagerlöf girls think it strange Fru Hedda does not appear. True, she no longer lives at East Ämtervik; but they hope she will come and do something jolly. Somehow, it would not be a real seventeenth of August unless she were there.
And now come the nearest neighbours. Pastor Milén and his boys have moved to another parish. To-day, it is the tall, handsome Pastor Lindegren and his sweet little wife who stroll over from the parsonage. From Där Ner in Mårbacka come Mother Kersten and Father Olof; but they are not the only peasant-folk who want to felicitate the Lieutenant. Old man Larsson of Äs, the richest man in the parish, has come with his daughters; the Senator from Bävik with his wife, and the church warden of Västmyr with his.
The little girls are in a perfect twitter of excitement as they stand beside their father and see all who come. One whom they most anxiously await is Jan Asker. They do hope he is not hurt about something and will stay away. They try to count heads, but as people keep pouring in from every direction they soon lose the count. Maybe there are already a hundred guests! They hope it will be a gay party. It sounds so grand to the children when somebody says there were a hundred persons gathered at Mårbacka on the seventeenth of August.
But this receiving is merely an introduction to that which is to follow. It is the same with the coffee-drinking on the lawn. The children wish all such things were over.
Ah, at last it is going to begin! The brass sextette line up in position below the steps. A march is struck. The gentlemen offer an arm to the ladies and, led by the band, the couples march through the garden down to the little park.
There they gather round a table on which stand glasses of punch and claret-cup. Obviously, the moment has come for the birthday speech and the toast to Lieutenant Lagerlöf. Engineer Noreen, Senator Nils Andersson, and Herr Nilsson of Visteberg have all come prepared to speak. Each wonderingly looks at the others, and hesitates, not wanting to push forward and take the word from his rivals.
"Well, are we to have something?" the Lieutenant asks. These high-flown set speeches are not to his taste, and he is anxious to have that part of the programme over as quickly as possible. Just then from behind him comes a clear voice, with musical Stockholm intonations, and out of the thicket steps a beautiful Zingara. She asks if she may tell his fortune. Taking his left hand between her two pretty hands, she reads the lines of his palm.
Lieutenant Lagerlöf had been very ill during the winter, and to regain his health had spent part of the summer at Strömstad. All his exploits and divertissements on that sojourn the Zingara now reads in his hand, and, moreover, she reveals them in lilting verse.
It is a bit pert and naughty, to be sure, but it provokes laughter and the Lieutenant is charmed.
"Anyhow, you're Number One, Hedda!" he says.
But when Fru Hedda has proposed a health to the host, and has led the fourfold hurrahs, and the sextette has tooted a fanfare, she gives the three speakers from East Ämtervik a sweeping glance, and says: "Pray, pardon my intrusion. Now it is the turn of the natives."
"The 'natives' are already beaten, Fru Hedberg," replies Engineer Noreen.
Far back in the garden sounds old Jan Asker's clarinet, and the glitter of helmets and shining armour is seen among the trees. Jan Asker and Sexton Melanoz must have come upon three of the Immortal Ases, Odin, Thor, and Freja, who were bound for Mårbacka but had somehow lost their way. Jan and the Sexton have guided them safely hither, so that the shining gods may speak for themselves.
No, they do not speak. The three gods break into song; they chant to the old familiar melody "Come lovely May," a pæan to all that has been wrought here at Mårbacka in the time of Lieutenant Lagerlöf—every word of which is true. Tears glisten in many an eye, and the Lieutenant himself is deeply moved by his old friend's lyric.
"Melanoz is superb to-day!" he says. "After all, Hedda, I believe the natives will carry off the palm."
With this, the fête has been impressively and happily opened. The guests now scatter about the grounds. Some visit the berry bushes and cherry trees, and others want to see whether the fine Mårbacka peaches are ripening.
In a little while comes another fanfare. The gentlemen now escort the ladies back to the house and up the perilous attic stairs. The loft has been converted into a theatre, its small stage screened off with white draperies. The theatre is the work of Fru Lagerlöf, and is the cutest little place imaginable.
A moment's suspense, and the curtain goes up on a musical allegory written in the forenoon of that very day by Oriel Afzelius. It is entitled, "The Monk and the Dancer." The action takes place on the day of Lieutenant Lagerlöf's birth, August 17, 1819. Beside the cradle of the new-born babe, instead of the usual fairies, stand two symbolical figures, a monk and a dancer.
The Dancer would have the boy grow up a merry, dashing cavalier. The Monk, on the contrary, would make of him a serious ascetic. After a spirited controversy, they finally come to an agreement. Each shall direct one half of the little Mårbacka child's span of life. So for a time he is destined to lead the jolly life of a young officer; in his later years he is to settle down quietly, and practise abstinence and good deeds, with Mårbacka as cloister. Oriel Afzelius as the Monk and Kristofer Wallroth in draperies and veils as the Dancer, sing solos and duets from the popular operas. They gesticulate and declaim with emotional fervour, and wind up their quarrel with a lively pas-de-deux.
As the curtain falls there is wild applause. People shout, stamp their feet, and wave their handkerchiefs. Fru Lagerlöf sits in fear and trembling lest the floor give way under the storm. The Lieutenant cries out:
"Yi, yi, Melanoz! It's none of the outlanders winning now!"
The young folk at Mårbacka have rehearsed a little play, but the players feel rather disheartened as they are about to appear; they have nothing to offer comparable to Uncle Oriel's allegory.
Anna Lagerlöf is now fourteen, and this is her first appearance in a regular part. The piece is called "A Cigar," and she is cast for the role of the young wife.
Indeed, the performance is far from a failure, thanks to the acting of little Anna Lagerlöf! "How does that child come by her histrionic talent?" people wonder. She acts with such ease, naturalness, and charm, the spectators cannot get over their surprise. "That little girl is going to be a heart-breaker," some are heard to say. "Why, the lass is really pretty!" comes from another quarter. "And how well she acts, too!"
It seemed as if the plaudits and curtain calls would never end.
"Do you see. Lieutenant," shouts Sexton Melanoz above the tumult, "that the natives can hold their own?"
But at last they clamber down the break-neck attic stairs. Then they dance again, and chatter, and drink toddies, and some of them take to story-telling, for which up to then there has been no time.
After supper, at midnight, the Chinese lanterns arc lit. This is done every year now, and must never be omitted. For a change, they have the illumination on the front lawn.
Ah! how lovely it looks—as Mamselle Lovisa's flower beds stand out in the vari-coloured light; as the weeping ash, like a huge lamp, sends forth its rays through the lacy branches; as the dark copses gleam as if with fire-flowers!
Now all have come out to see the illuminations. They find themselves in a fairyland. The sweet harmonies of the quartette intensify the spell of enchantment.
Then comes a wonderful thing! It is like the soft caress of a balmy wind. No, one cannot say what it is. But they who have been together these ten hours, chatting, dancing, playing, listening to music and speeches, are now prepared for it. As they drink in the song and the beauty of the night, they are filled with a blissful rapture. Ah, life is so beautiful! How precious the moments! Every breath is a joy!
Now out of the throng steps Fru Hedda. In a moment she appears on the veranda, and starts the Värmland Anthem. All join in the singing, for in this way they are able to express what they feel: Ack, Värmeland, du sköna, du härliga land! They seem to hear voices back in the thickets and copses, and surmise that the Mårbacka elves and fairies are dancing a contra-dance under the maple trees to the lovely melody.
Hands press hands; eyes meet eyes through a mist of tears. And no one is surprised, for it is such an unspeakable happiness just to be!
At the close of the song, as Fru Hedda withdraws, Herr Noreen steps forward: he, too, would interpret the spirit of the hour.
"It is this that is the seventeenth of August," he says; "not the singing nor the play-acting, not the dancing nor the feasting, but that which we now feel—the sweet solemn joy which has stolen into our hearts, the love which permeates this blessed night. It was for this we longed when we came; it is for this we shall come again next year.
"Why is it, dear Brother Eric Gustaf, that we must come here to you in order to feel reconciled to our fate, proud of our country, happy with ourselves and with those about us? You are no big important man. You have done no great outstanding thing. But you have within you the best of good-will and an open heart. We know that, were it in your power, you would take the whole world in your embrace. This is why you can give us each year a few hours of bliss, a little glimpse of Paradise, which we of East Ämtervik call the Seventeenth of August."