Chapter V: Front Matter (5)

“Enthusiastic, do you say? Is not enthusiasm a high price to pay for a thing so natural as disinterestedness? I shall not demand so much of you, Monsieur Goefle; I shall only ask your esteem. I hope you will believe that if I were free to choose, I would consult my heart alone, and not my interest. Even if I could never have any more lace to my sleeves, or satin bows to my dress--even if I could never dance any more in the light of a thousand candles, to the sound of thirty violins, hautboys, and double-basses--I feel that I am capable of making even so immense a sacrifice as that, for the sake of preserving my freedom of opinion and the approbation of my conscience.”

Margaret spoke with enthusiasm. Excited by the dancing, she said just what was in her heart: all the generosity and romance of her nature shone in her brilliant eyes; there was a sort of electrical life and inspiration in her radiant smile; in her attitude, like that of a bird eager to dart upwards again to the clouds; in her lovely fair hair, whose long curls wreathed over her lily-white shoulders as if they were alive; in the heart-felt tone of her voice--in short, in the whole of her charming little person. Cristiano was altogether dazzled, and, without being entirely conscious of what he was saying, he asked Margaret, as if he were dreaming, this strange question:

“You will never permit yourself to love any one not of your own rank, I know. But suppose that, in spite of yourself, you should find your affections drawn towards some poor devil, a person without a name, without a penny--Christian Waldo, for instance--would you not be extremely mortified, and consider it your duty to stifle your inclinations?”

“Christian Waldo!” said Margaret. “Why Christian Waldo? You choose a very strange person as an example!”

“Extremely so, and I do it on purpose. When one proceeds by an antithesis--But come; this is what I mean. Suppose that this Christian Waldo--whom I do not know at all--really possesses the courage, the intelligence, the generosity that have just been attributed to him here; and in addition to his other endowments, the poverty which must be the faithful attendant of his wanderings; and a name which, I presume, he does not claim in virtue of any old parchments.”

“And with his death’s head--”

“No, without his death’s head. Well, suppose that you had no choice of marriage, except between him and the Baron de Waldemora--”

“My choice would be very easily made. I would not marry at all!”

“Unless, of course, it should turn out that Christian’s mask concealed a young and handsome prince, who was obliged to conceal himself for reasons of state?”

“A fine idea that is!” said Margaret; “another Czarewitch Ivan escaped out of his prison, or another Philip III. escaped from his assassins!”

“In that case, apocryphal or not, he would find grace in your eyes.”

“What do you want me to say? An Italian buffoon is really not a good standard of comparison, if you are in earnest.”

“Too true,” replied Cristiano, “and here is the finale; let us tread it lightly, for it is the handful of earth cast upon the romance entitled ‘The First Quadrille’!”

But it was not ordained that this quadrille should end according to choregraphic laws. M. Stangstadius, having at last finished the copious repast, which he called a mere snack between the supper and the after-supper, just at this moment came out from the refreshment-room. Absorbed in some lofty conception awakened in his mind by the agreeable effort of prosperous digestion, and coming upon the young dancers in his progress, he marched unceremoniously straight through them, running against the cavaliers who were just exhibiting their graces in the “forward two,” and treading on the little feet of the ladies as if they had been so many pebbles. His extravagant limping rendered his gait so ridiculous that every one burst out laughing. The dance was quite broken up; and the young couples, taking hold of each other’s hands, executed a rapid and noisy _rondo_ about the chevalier of the polar star, who, not wishing to be behind the others in grace, undertook to execute a hopping movement in the opposite direction, to the immense amusement of the company. But, sad to tell, the laughing and singing became so noisy as to attract attention in the grand saloon.

The orchestra had come to a pause in the music, but the young people did not notice it, and kept on singing and dancing around Stangstadius, who compared himself to Saturn in the middle of his ring.

Countess Elfride hastened to the spot, and, beholding the sudden cure of her niece, fell into a rage, which this time she could not restrain.

“My dear Margaret,” she said, shortly, in a sharp tone, “you are exceedingly imprudent. You forget your sprain; it is extremely dangerous to go on in such a way. I have just seen the baron’s physician, and he prescribes entire quiet to-night. Have the goodness to retire at once with your governess. She will assist you to go to bed, and put on some compresses. Believe me, you had best do so.”

She added in a low tone--

“Obey me!”

Margaret, who had been rosy with delight, turned quite pale, and, whether from anger or mortification, could not restrain two great tears which glittered a moment on her long eye-lashes, and rolled down her cheeks. The Countess Elfride snatched her hand and carried her off, saying, in an under-tone:

“I think you have taken an oath to do nothing to-night but make a fool of yourself. Now you must pay for it. I excused you for not dancing with our entertainer, for he really believes you were in pain; but after that, to dance with another person is to offer the baron an unheard-of, deliberate insult, and I will not allow you to keep up such conduct until he has perceived it.”

Cristiano followed along behind Margaret, trying to think of some means of disarming or diverting the wrath of her aunt, if he should perceive any favorable moment for addressing her, when he saw the baron approaching, and paused, leaning against the pedestal of a statue, to see what would take place among the three.

“What!” said the baron, “you are taking away your niece? It is too early. I thought she was just beginning to enjoy herself in my house. Permit me to beseech your indulgence for her; and since she has been dancing--as I am told--may I now beg her to dance with me? She certainly cannot refuse me now, and I am sure she will consent with pleasure.”

“If you insist upon it, baron, I consent,” said the countess.

“Come, Margaret, thank the baron, and go with him. Do you not see that he is offering you his arm for the polonaise?”

Margaret seemed to hesitate; her eyes met those of Cristiano, who did not know which feeling predominated--his desire to have her remain, or his fear that she would yield. Perhaps the last sentiment was most distinctly expressed in his looks, for Margaret answered steadily that she was engaged.

“To whom, pray?” cried the countess.

“Yes; to whom?” repeated the baron, with a singular inflection in his voice, and with a calmness that, Margaret thought, had something ominous in it.

She looked down, and was silent; for she did not understand what was passing in the mind of her persecutor, from whom she had thought herself quite safe.

The baron’s only object was to torment her and compromise her. He saw perfectly well her aversion for him, and cordially reciprocated it. Coldly hard-hearted and revengeful, he affected to jest; but said, speaking loud enough to be heard by many inquisitive ears:

“Where is the happy mortal with whom I must dispute you? for I certainly will do it. I have the right.”

“You have the right?” exclaimed Margaret, amazed and indignant; “you, baron?”

“Yes, I,” he answered, with cold, cruel irony; “you know very well I have. Come, where is this rival who is going to carry you off to dance from under my very beard?”

“Here!” exclaimed Cristiano, losing his self-control, and advancing upon the baron in a threatening manner, while all the spectators, stupefied into silence, looked on with curiosity and amazement.

It was very well known that the baron, in spite of his sluggish and blasé manner, was extremely irascible, and indomitably proud. Every one expected a violent scene; and, in fact, a greenish pallor overspread instantaneously the baron’s face, and he opened and shut his large and short-sighted eyes, as if to emit a flash of lightning for the annihilation of the audacious unknown who defied him so openly. But instantly the blood rushed back to his forehead, on which one large, engorged vein rose like a ridge, while his lips became more livid than the rest of his face. An indistinct cry escaped him, his arms extended convulsively, and he fell forward, exclaiming:

“There it is! There it is!”

He would have fallen upon the floor, had not twenty arms interposed. He had fainted; and they carried him to a window, and unceremoniously broke the panes to give him fresh air. Olga made her way through the crowd to bear him assistance. Margaret disappeared as if her aunt had whisked her off by conjuration; and Cristiano was rapidly led away by Major Osmund Larrson, who had taken a great liking to him.

“Come along with me,” said the good-natured young fellow; “I must speak with you.”

In a few moments Cristiano and Osmund were alone in an antique room on the ground-floor, warmed by an immense fire-place.

“We can smoke here,” said the major. “Here’s a rack, well filled; suit yourself with a pipe, and here’s the tobacco. That beer on the table is the best in the country, and here’s some capital old Dantzic brandy. My comrades will be down in a moment to tell us the latest news of the affair.”

“My dear major,” said Cristiano, “I see you think me extremely angry, but you are mistaken. Let the baron get over his attack; I will smoke here with you until he is ready for an explanation.”

“But for what purpose? to fight a duel?” said the major. “Bah! The baron never fights; he never has fought. You do not know him at all, then?”

“Not at all,” said Cristiano, calmly, as he smoked his pipe, and poured out a large goblet of beer. “Have I really, like a true Don Quixote, attacked a windmill? I did not know that I was making such a fool of myself.”

“You have done nothing of the kind, my dear friend. Quite the contrary, many persons will think that you have been exceedingly audacious to oppose the Snow Man; and certainly that is my opinion.”

“I should have thought that a man of snow would easily thaw.”

“That is not the case in this country. Men of that kind remain standing a long time.”

“I have been heroic, then, without knowing it.”

“You must try and not find it out at your own expense. The baron does not fight, it is true; but he takes his revenge for all that, and he never forgets an injury. It doesn’t matter where you may be, he will pursue you with his hate; and it doesn’t matter what career you may want to follow, he will put obstacles in your way. If you get into some difficulty, as may happen to any high-spirited young fellow, he will contrive to make it dangerous for you; and if he once has you thrown into prison, there you will remain. My advice to you, therefore, is to depart at once, and to remain constantly on your guard as long as you live; at least, unless the devil chooses to wring the neck of his crony this very night, under the pretence of a fit of apoplexy.”

“Do you think the baron so ill?” inquired Cristiano.

“We shall soon know all about it. Here is my lieutenant, Erwin Osburn, who is my best friend, and who likes you as well as I do. How now, lieutenant, what is the latest news of the Snow Man? Are there any signs that the thaw is approaching?”

“No, it turns out to be nothing at all,” replied the lieutenant; “or, anyhow, so he pretends. He went to his room for a moment, and returned with such a good color, that I suspect him of daubing his pale cheeks with rouge. His eyes are dull, however, and he hesitates in speaking. I was curious enough to go up to him; and taking this as a mark of respect, he condescended to inform me that it was his wish that the dancing should go on, and that people should pay no further attention to him. He is seated in the grand drawing-room, and what convinces me that he is more uncomfortable than he confesses is, that he seems entirely to have forgotten the outbreak of rage that threw him into this fine state, and that nobody ventures to remind him of it.”

“Then the ball will go on,” said the major, “and you will see that it will be gayer than ever. It seems as if the people here wanted to shake off the thought of some approaching catastrophe, or as if the baron’s heirs could not contain their joy at finding that he is really ill, and has been so for some time. But you must tell us one thing, Christian Goefle. Under what form did you appear to the baron? or what spell did you cast over him? Are you a ghost or a sorcerer? Are you the _man of the lake_, who fascinates people with a look of his icy eyes? What is there in common between the baron and yourself, and why is it that he should have uttered, in swooning, his famous exclamation, which I heard to-day for the first time: ‘There it is! there it is!’”

“I wish you would explain it to me,” replied Cristiano; “for I have been trying in vain to recall where I could have seen him; if we ever did meet, the circumstances must have been very insignificant, since my memory of them is so confused. Let me see, has he been travelling in France or Italy since--”

“Oh, it is a long, long time since he left the north!”

“I am mistaken, then; I have never seen the baron before to-day. And yet one would have said that he recognized me. May he not have been delirious when he cried: ‘There it is! there it is!’”

“Oh, that is a sure thing,” said the major. “I have a gardener in my _bostoelle_,[4] who was at one time one of his servants, and who has told me a good many curious things about him. The baron is subject to violent attacks, which his physician calls nervous attacks, and which come from a chronic liver complaint. While these spells last, he sometimes shows signs of the strangest fear. He, the sceptic, the jeering infidel, is as cowardly as a child. He sees ghosts, especially that of a woman, and it is at such moments that he cries: ‘There it is! there it is!’ meaning, I suppose, ‘There, my fit is seizing me!’ or, perhaps, ‘There is the ghost that haunts me!’”

“He seems to be tormented by remorse.”

“Some say it is the recollection of his sister-in-law.”

“Whom he assassinated?”

“They don’t say that he killed her, but merely that he caused her to _disappear_.”

“Yes, that is a more elegant expression.”

“It is quite possible that there is no foundation for either story,” resumed the major. “The fact is that we don’t know anything at all about it, and that the baron is perhaps perfectly innocent of a great many crimes of which he is accused. You know that we are living here on the classical soil of the marvellous. The Dalecarlians have the greatest horror of anything practical, and of natural explanations. You cannot strike against a stone in this country, without supposing that a goblin pushed it against you on purpose; if your nose itches, you must run to a sibyl to be cured of a dwarf’s poisonous bite; nor is there a driver who will mend the broken trace of a carriage or sleigh without saying, ‘Come, come, little goblin, leave us alone; we are not doing you any harm.’”

“You can readily imagine that the Baron de Waldemora could not become very rich, in the midst of such a superstitious people, without being considered an alchemist. Instead of supposing him to be paid by the empress for sustaining her political interests, it was thought more natural to accuse him of magic; and from this accusation to that of the blackest crimes there is only a single step. Every sorcerer drowns his victims in waterfalls, buries them in abysses, rides avalanches, attends the witches’ Sabbath, and at the very least eats human flesh, being thought quite moderate in his ferocious appetites if he only sucks the blood of infants. For my part, I have heard so many stories that I discredit them all, and confine myself to believing what I know; and what I know is, that the baron is a wicked man, too cowardly to strike another man; too well-fed and fastidious to drink blood; too cold-blooded to lie in wait for travellers under frozen lakes; but quite capable of sending his best friend to the gallows, if he had any personal interest in doing so, and had only to utter some wicked calumny to accomplish his purpose.”

“He is a great villain!” said Cristiano. “But allow me to express my surprise at seeing so many respectable persons at his house--”

“You are right,” replied Osmund, without giving him time to continue. “We are unquestionably to blame for coming to amuse ourselves at the entertainments of a man whom we all hate. You have for an excuse that you don’t know him, but as for the rest of us--”

“I did not make any personal allusions,” rejoined Cristiano.

“I know it, my dear fellow; but you should not be surprised to find that a tyrant has a court. You are, of course, familiar with the history of your country; but as you have been absent a number of years, you may have thought that the progress of philosophy has established a little equality between the different orders of the state. It is not so at all, Christian Goefle, not at all; as you will soon see with your own eyes. The nobility is all-powerful; then comes the clergy, enlightened and austere, but also tyrannical and intolerant. The bourgeoise, so useful in the state, and so patriarchal in their manners, count for little, the peasantry for nothing at all, and the king for less than nothing. When a nobleman is rich, which luckily is very rare, he controls the interests and destinies of his whole province, and he either makes men do as he chooses or ruins them. You may rest assured that this would be the case with us young officers, if we should offer any discourtesy to the illustrious Seigneur de Waldemora. It is true that he could not deprive us of our rank, which can only be forfeited in case of actual crime; but, in spite of the inviolable laws of the indelta, we should be forced, by unheard-of persecutions, to abandon our cantonments, houses, estates and friends, as if we were a simple garrison.”

At this moment two other young men came in to smoke, and Cristiano ventured to ask them whether Countess Elfride had returned to the ball-room.

“You are a sly fellow!” replied one of them; “you will not persuade us that you take such an interest in the wicked Countess Elfride. As for her lovely niece, she disappeared at the same time with yourself, and her aunt pretends that she is very lame.”

“_Disappeared_, did you say?” cried Cristiano, unreasonably alarmed at the word.

“Come!” said the major, good-humoredly, “do you feel uneasy about your beauty, my dear Goefle?”

“Excuse me, I have no right to speak so of Countess Margaret. She is certainly beautiful; but, unfortunately for me, she is not _mine_ in any sense of the word.”

“I meant no harm,” replied Osmund, “I merely saw, like everybody else, that she selected you for the partner of her first dance, and that you seemed to be chatting together in a very friendly way. If you are not in love with her you make a mistake, upon my honor, and if she don’t feel some little weakness for you, perhaps she also makes a mistake, for we all think you a capital fellow.”

“It would be altogether a mistake in me,” replied Cristiano, “to aspire to a star too far above me.”

“Bah! because you have no title? But your family has been ennobled, and your uncle, the lawyer, is a distinguished man in talent and character. He is quite as rich, moreover, as the beautiful Margaret. Love removes all obstacles, and if you have disagreeable relations, you can swear fidelity in secret. In our country, such betrothals are as sacred as any, and so, if you want to carry your point, we are all ready to help you.”

“To help me in what?” said Cristiano, laughing.

“To an immediate interview with the countess, unknown to her aunt. Well, comrades, what say you? here are four of us all ready. For my part, I know where their rooms are, and we can go there without a moment’s delay. If Mademoiselle Potin is frightened--pay her compliments, which she really deserves, as to that, for she is a charming person; and if a chambermaid screams, kiss her, and promise her ribbons for her hair. Then we demand a serious conversation with the Countess Margaret for Christian Goefle, in the name of M. Goefle, his uncle, from whom he brings an important communication! Ha!--that’s it. They will introduce us--but of course without our pipes--into a little drawing-room, where we will sit down quietly apart, while Christian Goefle addresses _la diva contessina_ in a low voice, and offers her his heart; or, if he is too timid to do that, lets her divine what his sentiments really are, while he inquires about the dangers with which the peerless little lady is beset, and arranges with her to avert them. I am not laughing, gentlemen. It is quite evident that Madame d’Elveda wants to force the inclination of her ward, and that the cunning Olaus is trying to compromise her, so as to drive off all other suitors. Very well; the situation is magnificent for the man, who, in a crowded ball-room, took up the gauntlet for the victim of this odious and ridiculous plot. Come, Christian! come, gentlemen, are you ready? _Parbleu!_ You shall have your turn! Another time, Christian, you shall be the one to assist us in love affairs as virtuous as your own; we ought to be able to rely upon each other to that extent, we young folks. In Heaven’s name, what would have become of us before now, if we were not all devoted friends and confidants? Forward! To the assault of the citadel. Follow me, if you love me!”

All started up, even Cristiano himself, for he could not help being carried away by the proposition, but he paused at the door of the room, and stopped the others.

“Thanks, gentlemen,” he said, “and depend upon it that I will go through fire for you when necessary, but I have no right to introduce this sweet romance into my life. Nothing in the conduct of Countess Margaret authorized me to undertake her defence, which I did in a moment of thoughtless indignation, and I have no reason now to hope that she thanks me for my interference. She may be offended, on the contrary; and it belongs to M. Goefle the lawyer, and to him alone, to protect her from her aunt, by acquainting her with her rights. The best thing for me to do, since my beautiful partner has left off dancing, and my terrible rival does not fight, is to go and have a good sleep, of which I am really very much in need, since I have been upon my feet for more than twenty-four hours.”

Cristiano’s sentiments were approved of, and he was loudly applauded for his gallantry. They tried to make him stop and drink with them, supposing this to be an irresistible temptation, but Cristiano was sober, as the inhabitants of warm countries usually are. The night was advancing, and he thought it more prudent to put an end to the comedy performed hitherto with so much success. He shook hands with his new friends, bade them adieu, promised to return to breakfast while inwardly resolving to do nothing of the kind, and without giving them time to inquire what part of the new chateau he was stopping in, returned lightly and mysteriously over the frozen lake.

It was on purpose that he left Loki, and the sleigh of the doctor of laws, at the new chateau; he was afraid that they would be heard, and cause him to be observed. He walked along the shore, until too far to be seen from the windows of the chateau, and then crossed to the door of Stollborg, which he had left open, and which no one, Ulphilas least of all, had thought of coming to fasten.

He took these precautions, because, to the pale light of the moon, which was no longer visible, had succeeded the fleeting but brilliant splendor of a magnificent aurora borealis. It was magnificent, at all events, for this region, although it is quite probable that it would have been a very ordinary display at a higher degree of north latitude; and yet the illumination towards the polar regions must have been unusually vivid at this moment, for it lighted up the whole country, and every object around the frozen lake. The snow, under its varying reflections, was showing a fantastic and magnificent succession of red and blue colors, and Cristiano, before entering the bear-room, remained for several moments at the door of the court, unable, in spite of the cold and solitude, to tear himself from this wonderful spectacle.

[Footnote 4: The _bostoelle_ of the officers of the _indelta_ is a house and lands, which they have the use of, and whose rent is proportioned to their rank. This rent is their salary. The minister’s house is also called his _bostoelle_, and the minister has the use of it besides his other perquisites. The soldier of the _indelta_ has his _torp_, his little house with a garden and a few acres of land. The _indelta_ is a rural army, whose excellent organization was formed by Charles XII., and to which there is nothing analogous elsewhere.]

V.

IT was eight o’clock next morning when M. Goefle awoke. Probably he had not rested as well as usual during the night, for he was habitually an early riser, and was quite scandalized to find himself abed at such an hour. It is true that he had reckoned upon little Nils to wake him, but Nils was still sound asleep, and, after several attempts to arouse him, M. Goefle concluded to let him lie as long as he chose. This was not ill-temper on the part of the doctor of laws, but simply complete despair of obtaining any service from his valet-de-chambre. Resigning himself to necessity, therefore, he lighted his own fire, and then proceeded, like a methodical man as he was, by the light of a candle, which somehow seemed to be asleep standing, to shave, and to comb and curl his wig as carefully, and as well too, as if all his conveniences had been at hand. Lastly, having completed his toilet, all except his coat, which was ready to slip on in case of need, he wound up his watch, looked out at the sky, saw that there was not yet the least trace of sunrise, put on his dressing-gown, and, opening the two intermediate doors, prepared to put things in order in his saloon, the bear-room, intending to go to work there, quietly and comfortably, until breakfast-time.

But as he approached the stove, holding up his hand between his eyes and the flickering light of his candle, he started to see a human figure lying down between the stove and himself, the body sunk into the large arm-chair, the head lying over backwards upon the stuffed back, and the legs, thrust at a level with the body, into the large opening for hot air just above the grate of the stove.

“Hallo! What a sleeping beauty!” exclaimed the advocate; “he has really a superb face!” and he stopped to look at Cristiano, who was sleeping peacefully and profoundly. “It is some young gentleman or other who has run away to this old place from the noise and confusion of the new chateau, as I did. Well, I hoped I should be alone in this cursed hole, at any rate; but, if I can’t, I must make up my mind to have company, I suppose. Fortunately this young man looks agreeable. The poor fellow must have been very careful, for he made not the least noise, and did not hunt at all for any better bed than that arm-chair, which must be breaking him in two across the loins!”

Then M. Goefle touched lightly the cheek of Cristiano, who motioned as if driving off a fly, but did not wake up.

“He is warm enough, at any rate,” said the lawyer again. “That’s a capital furred cloak--just like my travelling-cloak; why, it’s exactly like it! Where is mine, by the way? Oh, I see; he found it on the chair, and just put it on. Faith, he was quite right. I should have made him perfectly welcome to it; indeed, I would have given him the other bed in my room, and Master Nils should have been obliging enough to sleep on the sofa. I am sorry the young man thought it necessary to be so particular! Really altogether too particular, I must say! A well-bred fellow, too, that’s evident; and careful of his toilet, for he took his coat off when he went to sleep; that’s a mark of a good, steady character. Let’s see what can be our young friend’s profession: a black coat--quite like my own best dress-coat--so very like it that it _is_ mine, for there’s my own handkerchief perfumed with musk, and--ah! he has been using my invitation to the ball. And my white gloves! where are my white gloves? On the floor!--just where they ought to be, too, for they are entirely spoiled. Ah, ah, my fine fellow, you are not so ceremonious as I thought! indeed, I can venture to assert that you make yourself very much at home. You lose your baggage, or you don’t take the trouble to unpack, and you help yourself to whatever you think proper out of mine. Young people play such tricks on one another, I know. I remember a certain ball at Christiania, where I danced all night in poor Stangstadius’s clothes, and he had to lie abed until I came back--and all next day too, for I let them carry me off. But nonsense! we were young then. At my age it will not do to allow that sort of fun--to other people. Hallo, hallo, monsieur! Wake up! Give me my breeches and silk stockings! God pardon me, what a quantity of stitches the young animal has started in dancing! And he won’t even condescend to open his eyes!”

As he made these observations in rapid succession, M. Goefle at last espied the clothes that Cristiano had laid off the evening before, and which, overcome by sleep at his return, he had left upon another chair. The threadbare trousers, the equally worn Venetian cloak, and the famous corded Tyrolian hat, launched M. Goefle upon a new sea of conjectures. Could this handsome young man, with his distinguished face and well-shaped hands, be some mere Bohemian, a bear-leader perhaps, a travelling pedler, a wandering singer? An Italian singer, possibly? No; his face was unmistakably a Dalecarlian one. A conjurer--perhaps a good deal too skilful in the line of his profession? No; for M. Goefle found his purse all safe in his trunk, and the sleeper’s face was an extremely honest one. He slept the sleep of innocence, too, most assuredly.

What was to be supposed, and what was to be done? The lawyer scratched his head. Possibly this wretched costume was a disguise which the young man had assumed to conceal himself while running about to play the Don Juan under the balcony of some pretty visitor at the new chateau. But finding none of his guesses satisfactory, M. Goefle finally set to work in earnest to awaken his visitor, shaking him repeatedly, and bawling into his ear, “Here, here, hallo! I say! Come, neighbor, wake up!” and such other exclamations as impatient people use for the benefit of obstinate sleepers.

Cristiano at last opened his eyes, looked fixedly at M. Goefle without seeing him, and with a truly Olympian calmness shut them again.

“Ah, there you go again,” said the lawyer, “off to dream-land!”

“What is it? What’s the matter? Does the aurora borealis last yet?” asked Cristiano, whose half sleep was evidently cradled in pleasant dreams.

“Where can you get an aurora borealis at this time of day?” asked M. Goefle; “it’s just before sunrise.”

“The sun? What is the use of talking about the sun in the middle of a ball?” asked Cristiano, in the coaxing voice of a sleeper who is begging to be let alone.

“Yes, that’s it; the ball, my coat, the sun, my small-clothes, the aurora borealis,” replied M. Goefle, “all very logical and well connected in your dreams, no doubt, my good friend, but I want you to give a better account of yourself, and I shall keep on shaking you until you can make out a more satisfactory case than that.”

Good-natured Cristiano submitted to the shaking with incomparable meekness. The habit he had acquired of sleeping on the first board he came to, whether at sea in all sorts of weather or on the road in all sorts of vehicles, rendered even the vigorous rocking which the lawyer was bestowing upon him rather agreeable than otherwise; it was just sufficient to make him pleasantly conscious that he was in a state of repose. Gradually, however, the idea made its way into his mind, of ascertaining what place he was in. He opened his eyes, looked at the stove, turned about and gazed, as if to question the sombre walls of the room.

“Deuce take me!” he exclaimed, “if I know where I am. But, after all, what difference does it make? Here to-day, somewhere else to-morrow! Such is life!”

“Please to take the trouble, at least,” said the lawyer, “to observe in whose company you are.”

Well satisfied with this dignified command, M. Goefle waited for the surprise, or terror, or confusion, which were to appear in the face of the delinquent, but in vain. Cristiano rubbed his eyes, looked upon him with a smile, and observed in the most affable manner:

“A very good face, yours, sir! What do you want of me?”

“What do I want of you?” exclaimed M. Goefle, with some indignation; “I want my fur cloak, my cap, my waistcoat, my shirt, my slippers;--I want everything of mine that you have clothed and ornamented your lovely person with.”

“Bah! bah! What makes you think so? You are dreaming, my good man!” said the adventurer, raising himself to a sitting posture, and looking with astonishment upon his borrowed wardrobe. Then, laughing, as he began confusedly to remember the night’s transactions, he continued:

“Upon my word, Monsieur Goefle--it is that very respectable and eminent gentleman to whom I have the honor of speaking, is it not?”

“I have every reason to believe so, monsieur. Well, then?--”

“Well, then,” replied Cristiano, rising promptly and removing the doctor’s cap from his own head, with perfect courtesy, “I have to beg a thousand pardons--though at the same time I do not merit a single one. Please to consider, sir--I am a young man, and just at this moment quite destitute. A romantic notion led me to the ball last night, and I found no decent clothes within my reach except these, which Providence seemed to have sent on purpose. I am perfectly cleanly, and in perfect health; and moreover, if you should object to wear the clothes after me, I shall be able to-morrow to pay you for them, whatever price you choose to value them at.”

“A good joke that would be! Do you take me for a tailor?”

“By no means; but I should be extremely pained to be thought a thief. That is not my character at all.”

“Faith, I see that you are an honest young fellow--but you are very thoughtless. Still, even if I were inclined to be angry, the thing is done, and can’t be helped. I see very well that your health is good, for, by Jove, you have a magnificent color! And what hair! Ah, my fine fellow, I recognize the perfume of my hair-powder! But how the devil did you get into the ball-room without an invitation? for your style of travelling-dress does not indicate--”

“That I belong in good society, you were going to say? Oh, say so! I am not all susceptible on that point.”

“But, after all, I don’t know anything about it. The clothes don’t make the man. You have a very aristocratic hand. Come--out with it! Who are you? If there’s a romance, I’m fond of romantic stories; and if there’s a secret--well, your face pleases me, and I promise to be as discreet--as discreet as a lawyer--more could not be said.”

“I do not doubt your discretion, Monsieur Goefle,” said Cristiano, “and besides, I have no secrets that I need hesitate to reveal to a man of sense and character; but I give you notice that my story is rather long, and the stove is almost entirely cold. And to tell you the truth, although I had a very good supper last night, my appetite always wakes up as soon as I do; and I already feel some twinges.”

“How do you suppose I feel, then?” said the lawyer; “for I am always in the habit of taking my tea in bed, as soon as I wake. That blockhead of an Ulphilas has abandoned me altogether. There are the very same dishes on the table that were there last night.”

“Thanks to me, then, Monsieur Goefle; for I recognize the same ham and fish that I purloined out of the kitchen of your friend M. Ulph--what is his name?”

“Ulph; for Ulphilas. Yes, that is quite correct. Hereabouts, they abridge all names. They make monosyllables of them all, apparently for fear that otherwise, when they called anybody, half of his name should freeze in the air. If I am indebted to you for my supper, then, I must conclude that this said Ulph would have let me perish of hunger--he! he!--in this very room, about which there is already one story of the kind. Perhaps the rascal meant to leave me to the same fate, so as to make sure that the room should deserve its reputation.”

“Is it the Baroness Hilda who starved to death here, Monsieur Goefle?”

“Ah, you have heard of it, then? It is only a story, thank God! Let us think about our breakfast. I will call some one.”

“No, Monsieur Goefle. Ulph will certainly come immediately. Besides, if you want anything more, let me go and get it. There’s nothing like choosing your own bill of fare; but this bear’s ham, or boar’s ham, this smoked tongue and roast game, which you hardly began on last night--don’t they appeal to you any longer this morning?”

“Of course they do--of course; and there’s more here now than we two can eat. Well, as the table is set, shall we take breakfast, hey?”

“That will suit me exactly; but allow me to step into a corner and make my toilette--or rather to unmake it, for I am still--”

“In my clothes? I see that well enough. Well, as you are in them, stay there. Only, take the pelisse off and put the coat on, or you will be smothered while you are eating.”

Cristiano first refurnished the stove with fuel, and lighted it. Then, having washed his hands and face with much care and neatness in a corner of the room, he took his place, and began to carve the cold meats in a style that showed him to be a master of the art.

“It’s curious,” remarked M. Goefle; “you have what they would call in France the manner of a perfect gentleman, and yet that old coat of yours there--”

“Indicates misfortune, and not poverty,” answered the adventurer, quietly. “Eight days ago I was very decently equipped, and could have appeared at the ball without any embarrassment.”

“Very possibly,” said M. Goefle, seating himself, and beginning to make good use of his handsome teeth; “just as it is quite possible that you are getting ready for one more of those romances that travelling adventurers excel in. It is all the same to me, if it is amusing.”

“Come,” said Cristiano, laughing, “in what language shall I recite my tale?”

“Faith, in Swedish, as that is your own language. You are a Swede, and a Dalecarlian too; I see that plainly enough, by your face.”

“But I am not Swedish, though; Icelandic, rather.”

“Rather? are you not sure?”

“Not the least in the world. Therefore, as Latin is the universal language, if you please--”

And Cristiano continued in elegant and correct Latin, speaking it with the greatest facility.

“Very well done, indeed!” said the advocate, who had listened kindly and attentively; “but your Italian pronunciation hinders me a little in following your Latin.”

“Probably there would be the same difficulty in Greek and German,” suggested Cristiano, changing first to the dead, and then to the living, language, with equal ease and correctness, and interspersing with his discourse quotations enough to prove that he was versed in both ancient and modern literature.

“Bravo!” cried the doctor; “you are a highly educated young fellow, I see. And French--do you know that also?”

“French and English, at your service,” said Cristiano. “I was taught them all; and my own preference led me to the study of languages.”

“Well, then, speak French,” said M. Goefle, who was hardly less of a polyglot than Cristiano. “I love Italy, but I adore France. She is our ally, useful or not; and, above all, she is the antagonist of Russia, which I hold in execration.”

“Great heavens! so do I. I am anti-Russian ever since I came into Sweden; and especially since last evening. But now, doctor, permit me to beg you not to take me for a pedant. The reason that I ventured to display my poor acquirements before a Professor of the Faculty of Lund is, that when you saw me carving that ham rather skilfully, you asked, in your own mind, whether I was not an ex-steward or butler from a good family, discharged in disgrace, and on the lookout for victims.”

“There now! Did you really guess that that idea was passing through my mind? Well, I confess it; and I see now that if you have been employed in good families, it has by no means been in a lackey’s place.”

“Oh, _Mon Dieu_, monsieur!” answered Cristiano; “lackey or professor, it is very much the same thing with some people, except the difference of a grade more or less.”

“Oh no! not in Sweden, my friend; the devil! no indeed; not here.”

“I know it, monsieur. Your people are fond of profound studies, and the promotion of knowledge is nowhere more nobly encouraged; but in other countries it often happens--”

Here Cristiano was interrupted by the entrance of Ulphilas with breakfast. Seeing the table already set, he halted in stupid astonishment.

“You see, blockhead,” cried M. Goefle, gayly, guessing the reason of his surprise, “my kobold has waited on me in your place; and it’s well for me he did, for you have left me entirely alone this twelve hours.”

Ulph, or Ulf--for there is sufficient authority for either form of the word--tried to excuse himself; but the consolation which he had sought in the bottle the evening before had entirely obscured his faculties, and he found it very hard to give any reasons for his neglect. As a general thing, Ulph became comfortable enough in his mind by day-break, and for the five hours or thereabouts following the late sunrise of winter, he was no more cowardly or awkward than other people. His excessive libations had, no doubt, an effect upon his dull brains at all times; but as he could nevertheless perform his domestic duties with the proper mechanical regularity, this was neither troublesome to others nor disquieting to himself. On the present occasion, he stammered, in the Dalecarlian dialect, some words of stupid surprise at seeing the dishes displayed upon the table, and an unknown individual seated with the doctor.

“Come,” said the doctor, “wait upon this gentleman as you do upon myself. He is a friend of mine whom I have accommodated in my lodging.”

“Yes, sir,” said Ulph, “I have nothing to say against that; but the thing is that the horse--”

“Horse yourself!” exclaimed Cristiano, who had already picked up somewhere a few words of Dalecarlian, and who saw himself threatened by a terrible revelation.

“Yes, sir, horse myself,” replied Ulph, with resignation. “But the sleigh--”

“What about the sleigh?” said the doctor; “have you cleaned it? Have you rubbed down my horse?”

The word _horse_ again striking Cristiano’s ear, he turned towards Ulph, and looked at him, aside, with such a terrific expression, that the poor stupefied fellow, quite losing his self-command, stammered in reply:

“Yes, yes, sir; horse, sleigh. It’s all right.”

“Very well, then, go on with the breakfast,” said the doctor, reassured. “Give us the tobacco, Ulph, and let the tea-kettle alone. We will make the tea for ourselves.”

As Ulph accordingly turned to the stove to set down the tea-kettle, Cristiano stepped after him, as if to superintend the operation, and turning towards him, said in his ear, in Dalecarlian, and with another terrifying glance:

“Horse, sleigh, new chateau--quick!”

Upon this Ulph took it into his head that in his drunkenness he must have received some orders which he had not executed; so he hurried off, put on his skates, and went over to the new chateau to look for Loki through the noisy stables, overcrowded with grooms and horses.

Our doctor of laws did not eat so gluttonously as the doctor of sciences, Stangstadius. He took his time, and savored and passed judgment upon every dish, according to the great principles which govern the application of the culinary art to the lofty needs of the choicer class of stomachs. At the end of a further half hour of conversation, with experiments, on the subject, he and Cristiano, as they looked at each other, perceived each a rosy reflection upon the other’s face.

“There it is at last!” said the doctor; “the sun is just coming above the horizon.”

He looked at his watch.

“A quarter before ten,” he observed. “Come, this Mora watch does very well. See, this is of home manufacture. Our Dalecarlians make everything. They make all their own tools, from the simplest to the most complicated. But don’t put out the candle, it will be convenient while we are smoking; and besides, in the winter, I like to watch the doubtful, fantastic mingling of the sunlight and the artificial light struggling together in the room. Why, the clock’s striking! You wound it up last evening, then?”

“Certainly. Did you not observe it?”

“I did not observe anything. I was sleeping while standing up, or else I was dreaming. Perhaps it is only a dream that I came in here and took supper. No matter. Can you make tea?”

“No; but coffee to perfection.”

“Very well, make some. I will take charge of the tea.”

“Are you fond of such an insipid, melancholy drink?”

“Yes,--diluted with a full third of brandy or old rum.”

“Ah, that makes a difference! Doctor, I am surprised at finding here a table as well spread as if at Paris or London.”

“Well, why not? Are we at the end of the world? It is only six hours’ sail to Prussia, where they live just as they do in Paris.”

“Yes; but off at the furthest end of this province, sixty or seventy leagues away inland, and in so poor a country--”

“So poor! Do you think a country must be poor because it is not well adapted to tillage? You forget that, amongst us, wealth lies under the ground, not above it; and that the mines of Dalecarlia are the very treasury of Sweden. You have noticed that this region, bordering on Norway, is thinly peopled, and you have concluded that it would not support a larger population. Let me tell you that if the government only knew how to develop its resources, and had the power to do so, our mineral wealth would afford the means of increasing a hundredfold our prosperity, and the number of our inhabitants. One day, things will go better with us, if we can only escape, on the one hand, from the claws of England, whose intrigues oppress us, and, on the other, from the pincers of Russia, who paralyzes us with her threats. In the meanwhile, my son, understand that if there are poor people amongst us, it is not the fault of this good land of God’s, so much calumniated by the ignorance, indifference, or false notions of the men who inhabit it. People here complain of the severity of the winter and the hardness of the rocks. But there is a warm heart down underneath in the earth! Dig down anywhere, yes, I guarantee you, anywhere, and you will come upon some of the innumerable veins of valuable metals that ramify throughout beneath our feet. With those metals we can buy all the rarities, all the luxuries, all the productions of Europe, if we only have arms enough to lift the wealth to the surface of the ground. We complain of the earth, when it is men who are wanting. It is she who ought to complain of us, rather!”

“God forbid that I should speak ill of Sweden, my dear Monsieur Goefle! I only say that there are great areas of land lying uncultivated and waste, and that what few inhabitants there are, are so frugal that the traveller can find nothing at all to eat except gruel and milk;--healthful food, no doubt, but not much calculated to stimulate the imagination or to give energy to the character.”

“There you completely deceive yourself again, my dear fellow! This region may be called the very head and heart of Sweden; an enthusiastic head, full of strange poetry, and sublime or graceful imaginations; an ardent and generous heart, where the main artery of patriotism is throbbing. Are you familiar with its history?”

“Yes indeed! Gustavus Vasa, Gustavus Adolphus, Charles XII., all the Swedish heroes, have always found men in the heart of these mountains, though all the rest of the nation might be enslaved or corrupted. It is this glorious nook of the earth, this Switzerland of the north, that in every great crisis has supplied loyalty, energy, and salvation to the country.”

“Very well said! Well then, admit that the national gruel and barren and icy rocks may bring forth and train up poets and heroes!”

As he said this, the doctor of laws drew his soft wadded dressing-gown around him, and poured into his boiling hot and well-sweetened cup of tea, a half-glass of the best quality of rum. Cristiano was enjoying the flavor of an exquisite cup of Mocha, and they both burst out laughing at their enthusiasm for the cold of the mountains and the gruel of hovels.

“Ah!” said M. Goefle, becoming serious again, “the fact is, we are degenerate men. We must have our stimulants and tonics nowadays. That proves that the most accomplished or the most famous of us all is inferior to the lowest peasant of these savage mountains. But will not that animal of an Ulphilas bring us any tobacco? That fellow is a perfect brute!”

Cristiano laughed again, and M. Goefle, perceiving the inconsistency of eulogizing sobriety and equality just at that moment, allowed himself to be appeased, especially when he espied the tobacco-jar at his elbow. Ulph had brought it, with his usual mechanical precision, and had omitted to say so, from his utter lack of spontaneity.

“Well, come,” said M. Goefle--extending himself in the arm-chair for more commodious digestion, and smoking a magnificent Turkish pipe, whose bowl he rested upon a projection of the stove, while Cristiano, sometimes standing, sometimes sitting, sometimes astride his chair, smoked his short travelling-pipe with more speed and less tranquillity--“come, my problematic comrade, tell me this true history of yours, if you can.”