continuously on his pipe, which appeared to be made from an animal's horn,
although the horn was so small that there were no animals in our day from whose
foreheads it could have been broken. Nor did any one know who had made it.
Flammea, the steeple owl, had found it in a niche, in Lund Cathedral. She had
shown it to Bataki, the raven; and the two of them had figured out that this was
the kind of horn that was used in former times by those who wished to gain power
over rats and mice. But the raven was Akka's friend; and it was from him she had
learned that Flammea owned such a treasure
And it was true that the rats could not resist the pipe. The boy walked before
them and played as long as the starlight lasted, and all the while they followed
him. He played at daybreak; he played at sunrise; and the whole time the entire
procession of gray rats followed him, and were enticed farther and farther away
from the big grain loft at Glimminge Castle.
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Initial text entry and proof-reading of this chapter were the work of volunteers
Amalia Donde and Dr. Maureen Liston.
Chapter V.
"Chapter V." by Selma Lagerlöf (1858-1940), translated by Velma Swanston Howard.
From: The Wonderful Adventures of Nils. by Selma Lagerlöf. New York: Doubleday,
Page & Company, 1922, pp. 85-96.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE GREAT CRANE DANCE ON KULLABERG
Tuesday, March twenty-ninth.
ALTHOUGH there are many magnificent structures in Skåne, it must be granted that
not one among them has such pretty walls as old Kullaberg.
Kullaberg is low and rather long. It is by no means a big or imposing mountain.
On its broad summit you'll find woods and grain fields, and one and another
heather-heath. Here and there, round heather-knolls and barren cliffs rise up.
It is not especially pretty up there. It looks very much like all the other
upland places in Skåne.
He who walks along the road which runs across the middle of the mountain can't
help but feel a little disappointed. Then mayhap he turns from the path, wanders
off toward the mountain's sides and looks down over the bluffs; and then, all at
once, he discovers so much that is worth seeing he hardly knows how he'll find
time to take in the whole of it. For it happens that Kullaberg does not stand on
the land, with plains and valleys around it, like other mountains; but it has
plunged into the sea, as far out as it can get. Not even the tiniest strip of
land lies below the mountain to protect it against the breakers; for these reach
all the way up to the mountain walls, and can polish and mould them to suit
themselves. This is why the walls stand there as richly ornamented as the sea
and its helpmeet, the wind, have been able to effect. You'll find steep ravines
deeply chiselled in the mountain's sides; and black crags that have become
smooth and shiny under the constant lashing of the winds. There are solitary
rock-columns that spring straight up out of the water and dark grottoes with
narrow entrances; there are barren, perpendicular precipices, and soft,
leaf-clad inclines; there are small points, and small inlets, and small rolling
stones that are rattlingly washed up and down with every dashing breaker; there
are majestic cliff-arches which project over the water; there are sharp stones
that are constantly being sprayed by a white foam; and others that mirror
themselves in unchangeable dark-green still water. There are also giant
troll-caverns shaped in the rock, and great crevices that tempt the wanderer to
venture into the mountain's depths, all the way to Kullman's Hollow.
And over and around all these rocky steeps creep entangled tendrils and weeds.
Trees grow there also, but the wind's power is so great that the trees have to
transform themselves into clinging vines, that they may get a firmer hold on the
steep precipices. The oaks creep along on the ground, while their foliage hangs
over them like a low ceiling; and long-limbed beeches stand in the ravines like
great leafy tents.
These remarkable mountain walls, with the blue sea beneath them and the clear
penetrating air above them, are what make Kullaberg so dear to the people that
great crowds haunt the place every day as long as the summer lasts. But it is
more difficult to tell what it is that makes the place so attractive to animals
that every year they gather there for a big play-meeting. This is a custom which
has been observed from time immemorial; and one should have been there when the
first sea-wave was dashed into foam against the shore, to be able to explain why
just Kullaberg was chosen as a meeting ground in preference to all other places.
When the meeting is to take place, the stags and roebucks and hares and foxes
and all the other four-footers make the journey to Kullaberg the night before,
so as not to be observed by the human kind. Just before sunrise they all march
up to the playground, which is a heather-heath on the left side of the road, and
not very far from the mountain's outermost point. The playground is inclosed on
all sides by round knolls, which conceal it from any and all who do not happen
to come right upon it. And in the month of March it is not at all likely that
any pedestrian will stray off up there. All strangers who at other times stroll
around on the rocks and clamber up the mountain side, the fall storms have
driven away these many months. The lighthouse keeper out there, on the point;
the old fru on the mountain farm, and the mountain peasant and his house folk go
their accustomed ways, and do not run about on the desolate heaths.
When the four-footers have arrived on the playground, they take their places on
the round knolls. Each animal family keeps to itself, although it is understood
that on a day like this universal peace reigns, and none need fear attack. On
this day a little hare might wander over to the foxes' hill, without losing so
much as one of its long ears. All the same the animals arrange themselves into
separate groups. This is an old custom.
After all have taken their places, they begin to look around for the birds. It
is always beautiful weather on this day. The cranes are good weather prophets,
and would not call the animals together if rain was expected. Although the air
is clear and nothing obstructs the vision, the four-footers see no birds. This
is strange. The sun is high in the heavens, and the birds should already be on
their way.
However, what the animals do observe is one and another little dark cloud slowly
advancing over the plain. And look! one of these clouds comes suddenly along the
coast of Öresund, and up toward Kullaberg. When the cloud has come just above
the playground it stops, and all of a sudden the entire cloud begins to ring and
chirp, as if it were made up of nothing but tone. It rises and sinks, rises and
sinks, but all the while it rings and chirps. At last the whole cloud falls down
over a knoll ­ all at once ­ the next instant the knoll is entirely covered with
gray larks, pretty red-gray-white bullfinches, speckled starlings and greenish
yellow titmice.
Soon after that, another cloud comes over the plain. This stops over every bit
of land: over peasant cottage and palace; over towns and cities; over farms and
railway stations; over fishing hamlets and sugar refineries. Every time it
stops, it draws to itself a little whirling column of gray dust-grains from the
ground. Thus it grows and grows. And at last, when it is all gathered up and
heads for Kullaberg, it is no more a cloud but a whole mist which is so big that
it throws a shadow on the ground all the way from Höganäs to Mölle. When it
stops over the playground it hides the sun; and for a long while it had to rain
gray sparrows on one of the knolls before those who had been flying in the
innermost part of the mist could again catch a glimpse of the daylight.
But still the biggest of these bird-clouds is the one which now appears. This is
formed of birds who have travelled from every direction to join it. It is dark
bluish-gray, and no sun-ray can penetrate it. And it is full of the ghastliest
noises, the most frightful shrieks, the grimmest laughter, and most
ill-luck-boding croaking! All on the playground are glad when it finally
resolves itself into a storm of fluttering and croaking: of crows and jackdaws
and rooks and ravens.
Thereupon not only clouds are seen in the heavens, but also a variety of stripes
and figures. Then straight, dotted lines appear in the East and Northeast. These
are forest-birds from the Göinge districts: black grouse and wood grouse come
flying in long lines a couple of metres apart. Swimming-birds that live around
Måkläppen, just out of Falsterbo, now come floating over Öresund in many
extraordinary figures: in triangular and long curves; in sharp hooks and
semicircles.
To the great reunion held the year that Nils Holgersson travelled around with
the wild geese, came Akka and her flock ­ later than all the others. And that
was not to be wondered at, for Akka had to fly over the whole of Skåne to get to
Kullaberg. Besides, as soon as she awoke, she was obliged to go out and hunt for
Thumbietot, who, for many hours, had gone and played to the gray rats, and lured
them far away from Glimminge Castle. Mr. Owl had returned with the news that the
black rats would be at home immediately after sunrise; and now it was quite safe
to let the steeple owl's pipe be hushed, and to give the gray rats the liberty
of going where they pleased.
It was not Akka who discovered the boy, where he walked with his long following,
and quickly sank down over him and caught him up with the bill and swung into
the air; but Herr Ermenrich, the stork! For Herr Ermenrich had also gone out to
look for him. And after he had borne him up to the stork-nest, he begged his
forgiveness for having treated him with disrespect the evening before.
This pleased the boy immensely, and the stork and he became good friends. Akka,
too, showed that she felt very kindly toward him; she stroked her old head
several times against his arms, and commended him because he had helped those
who were in trouble.
But this much must be said to the boy's credit: he did not want to accept praise
which he had not earned. "No, Mother Akka," he said, "you mustn't think that I
lured the gray rats away to help the black ones. I only wanted to show Herr
Ermenrich that I was of some consequence."
No sooner had he said this than Akka turned to the stork and asked if he thought
it advisable to take Thumbietot along to Kullaberg. "I mean, that we can rely on
him as upon ourselves," said she. The stork at once insisted most
enthusiastically that Thumbietot be permitted to come along. "Of course you
shall take Thumbietot along to Kullaberg, Mother Akka," said he. "It is our good
fortune that we can repay him for all that he has endured this night for our
sakes. And since it still grieves me to think that I did not conduct myself in a
becoming manner toward him the other evening, it is I who will carry him on my
back ­ all the way to the meeting place."
There isn't much that tastes better than praise from those who are wise and
capable; and the boy had certainly never felt so happy as when the wild goose
and the stork talked about him in this way.
Thus the boy made the trip to Kullaberg, riding stork-back. Although he knew
that this was a great honour, it caused him much anxiety, for Herr Ermenrich was
a master flyer, and started off at a pace very different from that of the wild
geese. While Akka flew her straight way with even wing-strokes, the stork amused
himself by performing a lot of flying tricks. First he lay still in an
immeasurable height, and floated in the air without moving his wings, then he
flung himself downward with such sudden haste that it seemed as if he would fall
to the ground, helpless as a stone; and then he had heaps of fun flying all
around Akka, in great and small circles, like a whirlwind. The boy had never
before been on a ride of this sort; and though he sat there all the while in
terror, he had to admit to himself that never before had he known what a good
flight meant.
Only a single pause was made during the journey, and that was at Vomb Lake,
where Akka joined her travelling companions and called out to them that the gray
rats had been vanquished. After that, the travellers flew straight on to
Kullaberg.
There they descended to the knoll reserved for the wild geese; and as the boy
let his glance wander from knoll to knoll, he noticed on one the many-pointed
antlers of the stags; and on another, the gray herons' neck-crests. One knoll
was red with foxes, one was gray with rats; one was covered with black ravens
who shrieked continually; and one with larks who simply couldn't keep still, but
kept bounding into the air and singing for very joy.
As has ever been the custom on Kullaberg, it was the crows that began the day's
games and frolics with their flying dance. They divided themselves into two
flocks, that flew toward each other, met, turned, and then began all over again.
This dance had many repetitions, and appeared to the spectators who were not
familiar with the dance as altogether too monotonous. The crows were very proud
of their dance, but all the others were glad when it was over. It appeared to
the animals to be about as gloomy and meaningless as the winter storms' play
with the snowflakes. It depressed them to watch it, and they waited eagerly for
something that should give them a little pleasure.
Nor did they not have to wait in vain. For as soon as the crows had finished,
the hares came running. They dashed forward in a long row, with no marked order.
