Читать книгу Ivar: or, The Skjuts-Boy - Emilie Flygare-Carlén - Страница 7

Table of Contents

Thus our hero now remained, on a dark night, upon the open high road, with his worn-out companion, a good mile distant from his house. Still were his glowing cheeks burning with the buffets he had received, and the scene through which he had just passed drove all other thoughts from his mind, that some time passed by before Ivar felt that the pony was rubbing his head against his shoulder, as if he meant to remind him that he had an older and better friend than his new and rough acquaintance.

"You are right, my poor pony," said Ivar, intuitively understanding the pony's mute appeal. "I would be a fool indeed if I should cause you to suffer by the ignominious treatment which the wicked nobleman has inflicted upon us both. Console yourself, dear pony; here is something for you." With these words, Ivar took the cake from his pocket, and allowed his favourite to eat, bite by bite from his hand, afterward conducted him to a small brooklet in the vicinity, and saw with pleasure how greatly the refreshing element seemed to revive the weary animal.

After he had bestowed, for half an hour longer, all the assistance which the time and place allowed, Ivar grasped the bridle, and walking beside the animal they both proceeded on their way home at a slow pace, while the boy with his old friend carried on the conversation.

"Now, pony, we have passed through quite a task to-day. Don't you think that many more such drives would displease you? It would me, too. You would soon be gone. But what do you think my father will say, because we come home so slowly and have left our cart behind? Yes, yes; at first he will scold a little, but as soon as he knows what has happened, I'll bet you he will say, 'That was right, my dear Ivar; thou hast acted like a brave boy. Thou hast also done well, not to follow behind the cart; I can bring it home when I go there next week with Nilpersson's team, and it did the pony no harm that he walked home free and without the skjut.' Yes, thus will my father say; but what consolation I shall find from my mother. I am sure she would lose an eye to comfort me; but of the buffet she need not hear a word, for if she did she would not let me go again. Is it not your opinion also, dear pony, that we had better keep silent concerning it?"

Ever and anon the pony would manifest his assent by a slight neigh. Thus they continued their way for some time in silence, but soon Ivar again halted, and with strained attention listened to the storm, which was rushing howlingly through a dried heap of dry rustling branches, to which heap every traveller added willingly his share, as, according to tradition, the body of a murdered man was buried under it. With a slight thrill of terror Ivar approached the heap, and speaking in reference to the strange story of the murder, said, "When this happened there were certainly different times than to-night. If I had returned the officer's blow," said he, thinking of his own affairs, "God only knows how it would have fared with me. It was certainly ruffianly treatment, and I here vow"—with these words Ivar placed his hand on the dry rustling branches—"I will never, never become a nobleman, and should I ever happen to meet him again, when I become a man, he shall make good these blows to me, for I shall never forget them. Not that I have not often received blows before, but he struck me, because I bore a noble name, and because I dare do menial service with my father's pony. He believes, I think, that it would be better that I should starve, because my father's ancestor was a nobleman, than to earn my bread as a peasant by honest labour."

The bitter and insulting injustice of the officer's treatment was what particularly rankled in Ivar's frank and honest heart. Of his future life generally, he had not, of course, any clear idea as yet, neither how he was to live, or what he was going to do; but a fresh train of ideas had arisen in his innermost soul, and it appeared to him that this night had opened a new epoch in his existence.

It was not until, by accident, that his hand touched the pony, trembling with cold, that he awoke from his meditations. He threw a branch upon the heap, and, slowly advancing, muttered, "For that which I have vowed here, by word and thought, Ivar always keeps his word, says my mother."

It was about four o'clock in the morning when the boy, after a five-hours' wandering, arrived with his fatigued companion at the stable which belonged to his father's cottage. After he had conducted his horse into the stable, he threw over him his large woollen blanket, cleared from the manger the pieces of cut-straw, and after having given the horse a bundle of fresh hay, he ascended into the hay loft to repose himself for a few hours.

There was no light in the house, and for this reason he did not enter it, that he might not disturb his mother; he would also be nearer his horse, and would willingly miss the warm hearth-fire to be near at hand should the pony require his care.

Exhausted with the fatigues of a day's labour in the forest and a night on the road, Ivar soon fell into profound slumber, dreaming now of his trusty pony, now of the coarse-mannered courier, against whom he now used his fists right heartily; and at a peculiarly well-directed blow, he broke forth in a joyful cry, and in the midst of his great triumph, the deceitful vision vanished. Ivar awoke, rubbed his eyes with the skirts of his coat, and discovered that it only had been a dream. His bed in the hay-loft, in the meantime, reminded him of his pony, and at the first thought of his favourite he sprang to his feet, and hastily descended to repair his involuntary neglect. But think of the mute, deep sorrow of the boy, when he found his beloved, his faithful, dear companion, lying on the ground, near the manger, unable to return, even with one sound, Ivar's endearing words. Ivar shook his mane, and, in plaintive tones, called him by his familiar name. All for naught—the pony was dead!

"It is over with thee; and with thee my joy is gone also!" said Ivar, sadly, seating himself on the floor, and suffering his head to sink and rest on the pony; and tears of more bitterness streamed down on his dead friend than are often wasted on many a splendid funeral. Ivar's sorrow was simple and artless, like himself; but it was, nevertheless, deeply felt within the innermost mine of his heart, and flickered there like a miner's lamp, at the light of which many precious metals are glistening. Sadly and silently he remained in this position, until his father, who had long before arisen, and looked forth from the window to watch the approach of the wagon, entered the stable, and here found, to his no small astonishment and grief, his poor Ivar sunk down beside the body of his dead friend.

"What is the matter with you, for heaven's sake? I think the horse is dead! Arise, Ivar, and relate, has the rascal driven the animal to death?"

"Yes, he has killed him, with his driving and whipping," replied Ivar; and arose with an expression of rekindling anger for the ignominy which he was forced to suffer from the officer; and the memory of the death of the pony, his best friend, of which the officer had been the cause, was recalled to his mind with vividness. "But, believe me, father, you would not have fared better even if you had been present yourself. You cannot think how hastily he drove; and if you will promise not to say anything else to my mother, you shall have the whole story."

And now Ivar reported his whole nightly adventure: he remembered every word that the officer had spoken, and even every stroke that his poor white pony had received; but when he commenced talking about himself, and was about relating to his father how he had received lashes of the whip, and buffets from the officer, his voice trembled so greatly, that his words were difficult to be understood; for the sight of the pony, who laid there motionless and stiff, and the thought that the only means of his father's livelihood had gone to the grave, seized hold of Ivar's soul, mingled with natural thought concerning his own future life.

When his story, to which his father had listened attentively, had come to an end, his father said, "You have spoken and acted as a man should;" but Ivar's heart was joyless at the praise bestowed upon him, for his pony was dead, and his father was poorer than ever.

"I shall bury him deeply in the forest, close to the old oak-tree," said he, after a pause; "and often, when I am weary of my work, I shall sit down on the mound, and will talk with the dead, as I have been wont to do. He will neigh no more; but I shall imagine that I hear his dear neigh replying to my words!"

His father shook his head mournfully; he understood well the feelings of his dear son.

"Will you help me bear him off? But I think it will be best that I should go in advance, and dig a grave for him."

"Well, do so, Ivar; but in the meantime, go in the house and get something to eat; to-night I will talk to Olaves, that he——"

"For what purpose, father?" interrupted Ivar, and a cold shudder passed over him. "I hope you will not. No! you will not be so cruel to the poor pony, who has served you so faithfully."

"We are poor people," said Christopher, with the immovableness of a wild savage; "it must be."

"I have never felt before how bad it was to be poor," replied Ivar, sadly, suffering his tears to fall upon the body of his dead pony. During the first few days, after this sad event, the lonely inhabitants of the forest-cot walked around singly, in a melancholy state of mind. Although Christopher read each evening in his large hymn book, or in his Bible, or Mother Ingierd sung, with a clear voice:

"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away;

Blessed be the name of the Lord!"

their hearts were, nevertheless, deeply grieved; and Ivar remained longer than usual in the forest, often not returning until late at night; for he sat, and gave free vent to his sad thoughts, upon his pony's grave.

"What have you on your mind?" said Father Christopher, one morning, when Ivar took his axe and was about to depart. "It seems as though something else than grief at the death of the pony was weighing on your mind."

"I cannot tear the poor animal from my thoughts, for a better friend I shall never have again: he was much more dear to me than you think," replied Ivar, with a slight degree of violence. "But," he added, hesitatingly, "there are other thoughts also that overcome me when I am sitting alone out there in the woods, the like of which I have never had before."

"I should think so; but what is it that troubles you?"

"Has it never struck your mind, father, that we are noblemen, and, at the same time, peasants?"

"No; God be praised, such thoughts have not, as yet, entered my head," replied Father Christopher, in a tone which proved clearly that he was in earnest. "It is a long time since we were people of high rank. Are your thoughts longing for that, Ivar?"

A deeper glow than was usual suffused Ivar's countenance, as he slowly and modestly answered, "Take it as you choose, a nobleman I never wish to become: this I say frankly; but I feel the desire to leave the plough."

"What dost thou wish to become? a soldier, perhaps! Art thou desirous for more lashes still?" inquired his father, moodily, for he believed that his son felt an inclination to become a soldier.

"More lashes!" cried Ivar, and a shudder passed through his form, as though he saw a viper, of whose approach he was afraid. "I certainly do not long for more lashes. Why do you ask me?"

"Because when I was young like you, I had the same folly in my brain, and thought that the plough was far more difficult to handle than the musket. But I paid dearly for my foolishness. I left the farm, which I had inherited from my father, to my brother-in-law, and entered the service. In the beginning, every thing went right. New brooms sweep clean, as the old adage says. It is so with everything. In the commencement all was joy and mirth. But patience; as soon as one becomes warm in his fine clothing he will soon have other thoughts. For a trivial offence, I drew the ill-will of an officer upon me, and he well remembered it. I at one time committed an unimportant mistake during drill, and the Satan, who was the commandant of a company, ordered that I should receive fifty lashes in presence of the entire company. I was proud also, you may believe, and for that reason, felt the bodily pain much less than the shame I was forced to undergo. But that was not enough—I received, into the bargain, a disgraceful discharge, and when I returned home, and found the girl whom I long had loved, she turned her face from me, and said that she would never marry such a wicked wretch as I."

Here Christopher stopped. It could be perceived by his words that the remembrance of those times still affected him violently, and some time elapsed before he was enabled to continue, in a firmer tone, "I did not wish to communicate these facts to you at an earlier hour, but it would be a sin to be silent longer, for it appears that it is your desire to bear a musket, and wear a uniform. But you shall hear further, as my sad experience had not ended. No, at my return, I found my farm entirely ruined by my brother-in-law's mismanagement, and not a sheaf in the barn. I was forced to throw myself into debt to be enabled to cultivate it again, and as the Lord punished me for my foolish wish to gain glory in foreign countries—which, however, I never achieved—first by bad crops, and then by one distemper after another my cattle died, I was, therefore, unable to pay my debts, and after I had worked for nought eleven years, I saw my property transferred into the hands of another, for the debts had overpowered me, and I was no longer able to help myself, although both your mother and myself, for I was married in the meantime, worked like slaves."

When Christopher stopped speaking, Ivar advanced toward him, his whole countenance evincing the utmost interest in the words he had just heard. "Father," said he, solemnly, "I understand you. I shall not deny that I have occasionally had an idea of becoming a soldier, when I should be enabled to rise in life as well as many another. But here is my hand, I shall never think of it any more. You have both suffered grief enough in your life, than that I should give you cause for sorrow. But one thing you ought not refuse me. I should like to go into the city, and see the fine sights. While one is out in the free air, wandering through fields and forests, he finds plenty of time for meditation, and I shall certainly find out something for myself."

"Well thought and well spoken, my son," replied Christopher, joyfully. "I was thinking myself that I should take such a walk to sell the skin of the poor pony. Our whole hope of support is now resting on the sale of that."

"Father!" exclaimed Ivar, in a supplicating tone, "could you not spare me that grief?"

"Then I shall be forced to go myself, with my swollen foot, and at the same time lose three days of labour. Do you desire that, Ivar?"

"We are poor people," replied Ivar, in a low voice, "and are therefore obliged to torture our own hearts. I will take the hide along."

"And sell it for as much as you can."

"I will do my best, but now I must hurry and bring in some fuel for mother, that she will not have to go after it while I am gone."

After Ivar had gone into the forest, Mother Ingierd returned home with a small pot of milk, for which she had exchanged at a neighbour's with some spun flax, and was informed of Ivar's intended journey. The following morning, after she had placed in his pocket his scant supply of food for his journey, which consisted of three cakes, one herring, and a piece of dried mutton, Ivar left his paternal home, accompanied with the blessings of his parents, and bearing the remains of his faithful pony, rolled up in the form of a knapsack, on his back, and took the road for Uddevalla.

Until the last glimpse of his grey jacket had disappeared into the forest, Mother Ingierd looked with tender eyes after the departing boy.

"Come in, mother," cried Christopher from within. "Has not the boy been away from home more than once before?"

"The Lord bless him; although he has an odd mind, I have never seen in him from his earliest youth, anything but joy," said Mother Ingierd, with a pious sigh, and returning to the house sat down to her distaff in silence.