The Greatest Works of Selma Lagerlöf. Selma Lagerlöf
Читать онлайн книгу.
see enough of them. He thought that if there had ever been any trolls who had turned into stone they ought to look just like that.
Although it was pretty down on the shore, the boy liked it still better on the mountain height. It was ghastly down here; for everywhere they came across dead sheep. It was here that the foxes had held their orgies. He saw skeletons whose flesh had been eaten, and bodies that were half-eaten, and others which they had scarcely tasted, but had allowed to lie untouched. It was heart-rending to see how the wild beasts had thrown themselves upon the sheep just for sport—just to hunt them and tear them to death.
The big ram did not pause in front of the dead, but walked by them in silence. But the boy, meanwhile, could not help seeing all the horror.
Then the big ram went up on the mountain height again; but when he was there he stopped and said: "If someone who is capable and wise could see all the misery which prevails here, he surely would not be able to rest until these foxes had been punished." "The foxes must live, too," said the boy. "Yes," said the big ram, "those who do not tear in pieces more animals than they need for their sustenance, they may as well live. But these are felons." "The peasants who own the island ought to come here and help you," insisted the boy. "They have rowed over a number of times," replied the ram, "but the foxes always hid themselves in the grottoes and crevices, so they could not get near them, to shoot them." "You surely cannot mean, father, that a poor little creature like me should be able to get at them, when neither you nor the peasants have succeeded in getting the better of them." "He that is little and spry can put many things to rights," said the big ram.
They talked no more about this, and the boy went over and seated himself among the wild geese who fed on the highland. Although he had not cared to show his feelings before the ram, he was very sad on the sheep's account, and he would have been glad to help them. "I can at least talk with Akka and Morten goosey-gander about the matter," thought he. "Perhaps they can help me with a good suggestion."
A little later the white goosey-gander took the boy on his back and went over the mountain plain, and in the direction of Hell's Hole at that.
He wandered, care-free, on the open mountain roof—apparently unconscious of how large and white he was. He didn't seek protection behind tufts, or any other protuberances, but went straight ahead. It was strange that he was not more careful, for it was apparent that he had fared badly in yesterday's storm. He limped on his right leg, and the left wing hung and dragged as if it might be broken.
He acted as if there were no danger, pecked at a grass-blade here and another there, and did not look about him in any direction. The boy lay stretched out full length on the goose-back, and looked up toward the blue sky. He was so accustomed to riding now, that he could both stand and lie down on the goose-back.
When the goosey-gander and the boy were so care-free, they did not observe, of course, that the three foxes had come up on the mountain plain.
And the foxes, who knew that it was well-nigh impossible to take the life of a goose on an open plain, thought at first that they wouldn't chase after the goosey-gander. But as they had nothing else to do, they finally sneaked down on one of the long passes, and tried to steal up to him. They went about it so cautiously that the goosey-gander couldn't see a shadow of them.
They were not far off when the goosey-gander made an attempt to raise himself into the air. He spread his wings, but he did not succeed in lifting himself. When the foxes seemed to grasp the fact that he couldn't fly, they hurried forward with greater eagerness than before. They no longer concealed themselves in the cleft, but came up on the highland. They hurried as fast as they could, behind tufts and hollows, and came nearer and nearer the goosey-gander—without his seeming to notice that he was being hunted. At last the foxes were so near that they could make the final leap. Simultaneously, all three threw themselves with one long jump at the goosey-gander.
But still at the last moment he must have noticed something, for he ran out of the way, so the foxes missed him. This, at any rate, didn't mean very much, for the goosey-gander only had a couple of metres headway, and, in the bargain, he limped. Anyway, the poor thing ran ahead as fast as he could.
The boy sat upon the goose-back—backward—and shrieked and called to the foxes. "You have eaten yourselves too fat on mutton, foxes. You can't catch up with a goose even." He teased them so that they became crazed with rage and thought only of rushing forward.
The white one ran right straight to the big cleft. When he was there, he made one stroke with his wings, and got over. Just then the foxes were almost upon him.
The goosey-gander hurried on with the same haste as before, even after he had gotten across Hell's Hole. But he had hardly been running two metres before the boy patted him on the neck, and said: "Now you can stop, goosey-gander."
At that instant they heard a number of wild howls behind them, and a scraping of claws, and heavy falls. But of the foxes they saw nothing more.
The next morning the lighthouse keeper on Great Karl's Island found a bit of bark poked under the entrance-door, and on it had been cut, in slanting, angular letters: "The foxes on the little island have fallen down into Hell's Hole. Take care of them!"
And this the lighthouse keeper did, too.
TWO CITIES
THE CITY AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA
THE CITY AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA
Saturday, April ninth.
It was a calm and clear night. The wild geese did not trouble themselves to seek shelter in any of the grottoes, but stood and slept upon the mountain top; and the boy had lain down in the short, dry grass beside the geese.
It was bright moonlight that night; so bright that it was difficult for the boy to go to sleep. He lay there and thought about just how long he had been away from home; and he figured out that it was three weeks since he had started on the trip. At the same time he remembered that this was Easter-eve.
"It is to-night that all the witches come home from Blakulla," thought he, and laughed to himself. For he was just a little afraid of both the sea-nymph and the elf, but he didn't believe in witches the least little bit.
If there had been any witches out that night, he should have seen them, to be sure. It was so light in the heavens that not the tiniest black speck could move in the air without his seeing it.
While the boy lay there with his nose in the air and thought about this, his eye rested on something lovely! The moon's disc was whole and round, and rather high, and over it a big bird came flying. He did not fly past the moon, but he moved just as though he might have flown out from it. The bird looked black against the light background, and the wings extended from one rim of the disc to the other. He flew on, evenly, in the same direction, and the boy thought that he was painted on the moon's disc. The body was small, the neck long and slender, the legs hung down, long and thin. It couldn't be anything but a stork.
A couple of seconds later Herr Ermenrich, the stork, lit beside the boy.
He bent down and poked him with his bill to awaken him.
Instantly the boy sat up. "I'm not asleep, Herr Ermenrich," he said.
"How does it happen that you are out in the middle of the night, and how
is everything at Glimminge castle? Do you want to speak with mother
Akka?"
"It's too light to sleep to-night," answered Herr Ermenrich. "Therefore