In some of the figures came one single hare; in others, they ran three and four
abreast. All had risen on two legs, and were rushing forward with such rapidity
that their long ears flapped in all directions. As they ran, they spun round,
made high leaps, and beat their fore-paws against their hind-paws so that they
rattled. Some performed a long succession of somersaults, others doubled
themselves up and rolled over like wheels; one stood on one leg and swung round;
one walked on his fore-paws. There was no regulation whatever, yet there was
much that was droll in the hares' play; and the many animals who looked on began
to breathe faster. Now it was spring; joy and rapture were advancing. Winter was
over; summer was coming. Soon it was only play to live.
When the hares had romped themselves out, it was the great forest birds' turn to
perform. Hundreds of wood grouse in shining dark-brown array, and with bright
red eyebrows, shot up into a great oak that stood in the centre of the
playground. The one who sat upon the topmost branch fluffed up his feathers,
lowered his wings, and lifted his tail so that the white covert-feathers were
seen. Thereupon he stretched his neck and sent forth a couple of deep notes from
his thick throat. "Tjack, tjack, tjack," it sounded. More than this he could not
utter. There were only a few gurgles way down in the throat. Then he closed his
eyes and whispered: "Sis, sis, sis. Hear how pretty! Sis, sis, sis." At the same
time he fell into such an ecstasy that he no longer knew what was going on
around him.
While the first wood grouse was sissing, the three nearest ­ under him ­ began
to sing; and before they had finished their song, the ten who sat lower down,
joined in; and thus it continued from branch to branch, until the entire hundred
grouse sang and gurgled and sissed. They all fell into the same ecstasy during
their song, and this affected the other animals like a contagious transport.
Lately the blood had flowed lightly and agreeably; now it began to grow heavy
and hot. "Yes, this is surely spring," thought all the animal folk. "Winter
chill has vanished. The fires of spring burn over the earth."
When the black grouse saw that the brown grouse were having such success, they
could no longer keep quiet. As there was no tree for them to light upon, they
rushed down to the playground, where the heather stood so high that only their
beautifully turned tail-feathers and their thick bills were visible ­ and they
began to sing: "Orr, orr, orr."
Just as the black grouse started to compete with the brown grouse, something
unprecedented happened. While all the animals were thinking of nothing but the
grouse-game, a fox stole slowly over to the wild geese's knoll. He glided very
cautiously, and was far up on the knoll before any one noticed him. Suddenly a
goose caught sight of him; and as she could not believe that a fox had sneaked
in among the geese for any good purpose, she began to cry: "Have a care, wild
geese! Have a care!" The fox struck her across the throat ­ mostly, perhaps,
because he wanted to make her keep quiet ­ but the wild geese had already heard
the cry, so they all rose into the air. When they had flown, the animals saw
Smirre Fox standing on the geese's knoll, with a dead goose in his mouth.
But because he had thus broken the play-day's peace, such a punishment was meted
out to Smirre Fox, that for the rest of his days he must regret that he had not
been able to control his thirst for revenge, but had attempted to approach Akka
and her flock in this manner.
He was immediately surrounded by a crowd of foxes and doomed in accordance with
an old custom, which demands that whosoever disturbs the peace on the great
play-day must go into exile. Not a fox wished to lighten the sentence, since
they all knew that the instant they attempted anything of the sort, they would
be driven from the playground, and would nevermore be permitted to enter it.
Banishment was pronounced upon Smirre without opposition. He was forbidden to
remain in Skåne. He was banished from wife and kindred; from hunting grounds,
home, resting places, and retreats, which he had hitherto owned; and he must
tempt fortune in foreign lands. So that all foxes in Skåne should know that
Smirre was outlawed in the district, the oldest of the foxes bit off his right
earlap. As soon as this was done, all the young foxes began to yowl with
blood-thirst, throwing themselves on Smirre. For him there was no way out but to
take to his feet; and with all the young foxes in hot pursuit, he rushed from
Kullaberg.
All this happened while black grouse and brown grouse were going on with their
games. But these birds lose themselves so completely in their song that they
neither hear nor see. Nor had they permitted themselves to be disturbed.
The forest birds' contest was barely over, when the stags from Häckeberga came
forward to show their wrestling game. There were several pairs of stags who
fought at the same time. They rushed at each other with tremendous force, struck
their antlers clashingly together, so that their points were entangled, trying
to force each other backward. The heather-heaths were torn up beneath their
hoofs; the breath came like smoke from their nostrils; out of their throats
strained hideous bellowings, and the froth oozed down on their flanks.
On the knolls round about there was breathless silence while the skilled
stag-wrestlers clinched. In all the animals new emotions were awakened. Each and
all felt courageous and strong; enlivened by returning powers; born again with
the spring; sprightly, and ready for all kinds of adventures. They felt no
enmity toward each other, although, everywhere, wings were lifted, neck-feathers
raised, and claws sharpened. If the stags from Häckeberga had continued another
instant, a wild struggle would have arisen on the knolls, for all had been
gripped with a burning desire to show that they, too, were full of life because
the winter's impotence was over and strength surged through their bodies.
But the stags stopped wrestling just at the right moment, and instantly a
whisper went from knoll to knoll: "The cranes are coming!"
And then came the gray, dusk-clad birds with plumes in their wings, and red
feather-ornaments on their necks. The big birds with their tall legs, their
slender throats, their small heads, came gliding down the knoll with an abandon
that was full of mystery. As they glided forward they swung round ­ half flying,
half dancing. With wings gracefully lifted, they moved with an inconceivable
rapidity. There was something marvellous and strange about their dance. It was
as though gray shadows had played a game which the eye could scarcely follow. It
was as if they had learned it from the mists that hover over desolate swamps.
There was witchcraft in it. All those who had never before been on Kullaberg
understood now why the whole meeting took its name from the cranes' dance. There
was wildness in it; but yet the feeling which it awakened was a delicious
longing. No one thought any more about struggling. Instead, both the winged and
those who had no wings, all wanted to raise themselves eternally, lift
themselves above the clouds, seek that which was hidden beyond them, leave the
oppressive body that dragged them down to earth and soar away toward the
infinite.
Such longing after the unattainable, after the hidden mysteries back of this
life, the animals felt only once a year; and this was on the day when they
beheld the Great Crane Dance.
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This chapter has been put on-line as part of the BUILD-A-BOOK Initiative at the
Celebration of Women Writers.
Initial text entry and proof-reading of this chapter were the work of volunteers
Dr. Maureen Liston and Jim Fritzler.
Chapter VI.
"Chapter VI." 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. 97-104.
CHAPTER SIX
IN RAINY WEATHER
Wednesday, March thirtieth.
IT WAS the first rainy day of the trip. So long as the wild geese had remained
in the vicinity of Vomb Lake, they had had beautiful weather; but on the day
they set out to travel farther north, it began to rain, and for several hours
the boy had to sit on the goose-back, soaking wet, and shivering with the cold.
In the morning, when they had started, it was clear and mild. The wild geese had
flown high up in the air, steadily, and without haste ­ with Akka at the head
maintaining strict discipline, and the rest in two oblique lines behind her.
They had not taken time to shout any cutting remarks to the animals on the
ground; but, as it was simply impossible for them to keep perfectly silent, they
sang out continually in rhythm with the wing-strokes their usual coaxing call:
"Where are you? Here am I. Where are you? Here am I."
All took part in this persistent calling, only stopping, now and then, long
enough to show the goosey-gander the landmarks they were travelling over.
It was a monotonous trip, and when the rain-clouds made their appearance the boy
thought it a real diversion. In the old days, when he had seen rain-clouds from
below, he had thought them gray and disagreeable; but it was a very different
thing to be up amongst them. Now he saw distinctly that the clouds were enormous
carts, which drove through the heavens with sky-high loads. Some were piled up
with huge, gray sacks, some with barrels; some were so large that they could
hold a whole lake; and a few were filled with big utensils and bottles which
were piled up to an immense height. And when so many of them had driven forward
that they filled the whole sky, it appeared as if some one had given a signal,
for all at once, water began to pour down over the earth, from utensils,
barrels, bottles and sacks.
Just as the first spring showers pattered against the ground, there arose such
shouts of joy from all the small birds in groves and pastures that the whole air
rang with them, and the boy leaped high where he sat. "Now we'll have rain. Rain
gives us spring; spring gives us flowers and green leaves; green leaves and
flowers give us worms and insects; worms and insects give us food; and
plentiful, and good food is the best thing there is," sang the birds.
The wild geese, too, were glad of the rain which came to awaken the growing
things from their long sleep, and to drive holes in the ice-roofs on the lakes.
They were not able to keep up that seriousness any longer, but began to send
merry calls over the neighbourhood.
When they flew over the big potato patches, which are so plentiful in the
country around Christianstad ­ and which still lay bare and black ­ they
screamed: "Wake up and be useful! Here comes something that will awaken you. You
have idled long enough now."
When they saw people running to get out of the rain, they reproved them saying:
"What are you in such a hurry about? Can't you see that it's raining rye-loaves
and cookies?"
A big, thick mist was moving swiftly northward following close upon the geese.
They seemed to think that they were dragging the mist along with them; and, just
now, when they saw great orchards beneath them, they called out proudly: "Here
we come with crocuses; here we come with roses; here we come with apple blossoms
and cherry buds; here we come with peas and beans and turnips and cabbages. He
who wills can take them. He who wills can take them."
Thus it had sounded while the first showers fell, and when all were still glad
of the rain. But when the rain continued to fall the whole afternoon, the wild
geese grew impatient, and cried to the thirsty forests around Ivö lake: "Haven't
you got enough yet? Haven't you got enough yet?"
The heavens were growing grayer and grayer and the sun hid itself so well that
one couldn't imagine where it was. The rain fell faster and faster, and beat
harder and harder against the wings, as it tried to find its way between the
oily outside feathers, into their skins. The earth was hidden by fogs; lakes,
mountains, and woods floated together in an indistinct maze, and the landmarks
could not be distinguished. The flight became slower and slower; the joyful
cries were hushed; and the boy felt the cold more and more keenly.
But he had kept up his courage as long as he had ridden through the air. And in
the afternoon, when they had alighted under a little stunted pine in the middle
of a large swamp, where all was wet, and all was cold; where some knolls were
covered with snow, and others stood up naked in a puddle of half-melted
ice-water, even then, he had not felt discouraged, but had run about in fine
spirits, hunting for cranberries and frozen whortle-berries. But then came the
evening, and darkness sank down on them so close that not even such eyes as the
boy's could see through it; and all the wilderness became so strangely grim and
awful. The boy lay tucked in under the goosey-gander's wing, but could not sleep
because he was cold and wet. He heard such a lot of rustling and rattling and
stealthy steps and menacing voices, that he became terror-stricken and didn't
know where he should go. He must go somewhere where there was light and heat, if
he didn't want to die of fright.
"Suppose I venture where there are human beings, just for this one night­"
thought the boy, "only to sit by a fire for a moment, and to get a little food.
I could get back to the wild geese before sunrise."
He crept from under the wing and slid down to the ground. He didn't awaken the
goosey-gander or any of the other geese, but stole silently and unobserved,
through the swamp.
