Chapter II

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 rôle 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 Ostenby 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!”