rid of him.
When the boy awoke it was morning with fine, clear weather. First, he, himself,
ate a bit of the bread which he found in the cabin; then he gave the geese and
the cow their breakfast, and opened the shed door so that the cow could go over
to the nearest farm. When the neighbours saw the cow coming along all by herself
they would surely understand that something was wrong with her mistress, and
would hurry over to the desolate farm to see how the old woman was getting
along. They would then find her dead body and bury it.
The boy and the geese had barely risen into the air, when they caught a glimpse
of a high mountain, with almost perpendicular walls, and an abrupt, broken-off
top; and they knew then that it was Taberg. On the summit stood Akka, with Yksi
and Kaksi, Kolmi and Neljä, Viisi and Kuusi, and all six goslings ­ waiting for
them. There was a rejoicing, and a cackling, and a fluttering, and a calling
which no one can describe, when they saw that the goosey-gander and Dunfin had
succeeded in finding Thumbietot.
The woods grew rather high on Taberg's sides, but her highest peak was barren;
and from there one could look out in all directions. If one gazed toward the
east, or south, or west, then there was hardly anything to be seen but a poor
highland with dark spruce-trees, brown marshes, ice-clad lakes, and bluish
mountain-ridges. The boy couldn't keep from thinking it was true that the one
who had created this hadn't taken very great pains with his work, but had thrown
it together in a hurry. But if one glanced to the north, it was altogether
different. Here it looked as if it had been worked out with the greatest care
and affection. In this direction one saw only beautiful mountains, soft valleys,
and winding rivers, all the way to the big Lake Vettern which lay ice-free and
transparently clear, and shone as if it were not filled with water but with blue
light.
It was Vettern that lent such charm to the landscape north of Mount Taberg. It
was as if a blue ether had risen up from the lake, and veiled the land. Groves
and hills and roofs, and the spires of Jönköping City, which shimmered along
Vettern's shores, lay enveloped in pale blue that caressed the eye. If there
were countries in heaven, they, too, must be blue like this, thought the boy,
believing that he had got a faint idea of how it must look in Paradise.
Later in the day, when the geese continued their journey, they flew up toward
the blue valley. They were in holiday humour; shrieked and made such a racket
that no one with ears could help hearing them.
This happened to be the first really fine spring day they had had in this
section. Until now, the spring had done its work under rain and bluster; but
with the sudden appearance of fine weather, the people were filled with such
longing after summer warmth and green woods that they could hardly perform their
tasks. And when the wild geese flew by, high above the ground, cheerful and
free, all paused in their work to glance at them.
The first to sight the wild geese that day were miners on Taberg, who were
digging ore at the mouth of the mine. When they heard their cackle, they paused
in their drilling for ore, and one called up to the birds: "Where are you going?
Where are you going?" The geese didn't understand what he said, but the boy
leaned forward over the goose-back, and answered for them: "Where there is
neither pick nor hammer." When the miners heard the words, they thought it was
their own longing that made the goose-cackle sound like human speech. "Take us
along with you! Take us along with you!" they cried. "Not this year," shrieked
the boy. "Not this year."
The wild geese followed Taber River down toward Monk Lake, and all the while
they made the same racket. Here, on the narrow land-strip between Monk and
Vettern lakes, lay Jönköping with its great factories. First the wild geese rode
over Monks Lake paper mills. The noon rest hour was just over, and the big
workmen were streaming down to the mill-gate. When they heard the wild geese,
they stopped a moment to listen. "Where are you going? Where are you going?"
called the workmen. The wild geese understood nothing of what they said, but the
boy answered for them: "Where there are neither machines nor steam-boxes." When
the workmen heard the answer, they believed it was their own longing that made
the goose-cackle sound like human speech. "Take us along with you!" "Not this
year," answered the boy. "Not this year."
Next, the geese flew over the well-known match factory, which stands on the
shores of Vettern ­ large as a fortress ­ its high chimneys reaching toward the
sky. Not a soul moved out in the yards; but in a large hall young working-women
sat and filled match-boxes. They had opened a window, on account of the
beautiful weather, and through it came the wild geese's call. The one who sat
nearest the window leaned out with a match-box in her hand, and cried: "Where
are you going? Where are you going?" "To that land where there is no need of
either light or matches," said the boy. The girl thought that what she had heard
was only goose-cackle; but thinking that she had distinguished a few words, she
called out in answer: "Take me along with you!" "Not this year," replied the
boy. "Not this year."
East of the factories rises Jönköping, on the most glorious spot that a city can
occupy. The narrow Vettern has high, steep sand-dunes, both on the eastern and
on the western sides; but straight south, the sand-walls are torn down, as if to
make room for a large gate, through which one reaches the lake. And in the
middle of the gate ­ with mountains to the left, and mountains to the right;
with Monk Lake behind it, and Vettern before it ­ lies Jönköping. The wild geese
flew over the long, narrow city and behaved here just as they had done in the
country. But in the city there was no one who answered them. It was not to be
expected that city folks would stop in the streets, and call to wild geese.
The trip extended farther along the shores of Vettern; and after a little they
came to Sanna Sanitarium. Some of the patients were out on the veranda enjoying
the spring air, and they too heard the goose-cackle. "Where are you going?"
asked one in such a feeble voice that he was scarcely heard. "To that land where
there is neither sorrow nor sickness," answered the boy. "Take us along with
you!" said the sick ones. "Not this year," answered the boy. "Not this year."
When they had travelled still farther on, they came to Huskvarna, which lay in a
valley. The mountains around it were steep and beautifully formed. A river
rushed along the heights in long and narrow falls. Big workshops and factories
lay below the mountain walls; and scattered along the valley-bottom were the
workingmen's homes, encircled by little gardens; and in the centre of the valley
lay the schoolhouse. Just as the wild geese came along, a bell rang, and a crowd
of school children marched out in line. They were so numerous that the whole
schoolyard was soon filled with them. "Where are you going? Where are you
going?" the children shouted when they heard the wild geese. "Where there are
neither books nor lessons to be found," answered the boy. "Take us along!"
shrieked the children. "Not this year, but next!" cried the boy. "Not this year,
but next!"
[Next]
Chapter XIX.
"Chapter XIX." 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. 231-249.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE BIG BIRD LAKE
JARRO THE WILD DUCK
ON THE eastern shore of Vettern lies Mount Omberg; to the east of Omberg lies
Dagmosse; and just east of Dagmosse lies Lake Tåkern. Around the whole of Tåkern
spreads the wide, even Östergöta plain.
Tåkern is quite a large lake and in olden times it must have been larger still.
But then the people thought it covered entirely too much of the fertile plain,
so they attempted to drain the water from it, that they might sow and reap on
the lake-bottom. But they did not succeed in laying waste the entire lake ­
which was evidently their intention ­ therefore it still hides a lot of land.
Since the draining, the lake has become so shallow that hardly at any point is
it more than a fathom deep. The shores have become marshy and muddy; and out in
the lake little mud-islets stick up above the water's surface.
Now, there is one that loves to stand with feet in the water, if only the body
and head are in the air, and that is the reed. And it cannot find a better place
to grow upon than the long, shallow Tåkern shores, and around the little
mud-islets. It thrives so well that it grows taller than a man's height, and so
thick that it is almost impossible to push a boat through it. It forms a broad
green enclosure around the whole lake, so that it is accessible only in a few
places, where the people have taken away the reeds.
But if the reeds shut the people out, they give, in return, shelter and
protection to many other creatures. For in the reeds there are a lot of little
dams and canals with green, still water, where duckweed and pondweed run to
seed; and where gnat-eggs and blackfish and worms are hatched out in uncountable
masses. And all along the shores of these little dams and canals, there are many
well-secluded places where seabirds hatch their eggs, and bring up their young
without being troubled by enemies or food worries.
An incredible number of birds live in the Tåkern reeds; and more and more gather
there every year, as they come to know what a splendid abode it is. The first
who settled there were the wild ducks, who still live there by the thousands.
But they no longer own the entire lake, for they have been obliged to share it
with swans, grebes, coots, loons, fen-ducks, and a lot of others.
Tåkern is certainly the largest and choicest bird lake in the whole country; and
the birds may count themselves lucky so long as they own such a retreat. But it
is uncertain as to how long they will be in control of reeds and mud-banks, for
human beings cannot forget that the lake extends over a considerable portion of
good and fertile soil; and every little while the proposition to drain it comes
up among them. And if these proposals were carried out, many thousands of
water-birds would be forced to move from these quarters.
At the time that Nils Holgersson travelled around with the wild geese, there
lived at Tåkern a wild duck named Jarro. He was a young bird, who had only lived
one summer, one fall, and a winter; now, it was his first spring. He had just
returned from North Africa, having reached Tåkern in such good season that the
ice was still on the lake.
One evening, while he and the other young wild ducks were having the best fun,
racing back and forth over the lake, a hunter shot at them, and Jarro was
wounded in the breast. He thought he would surely die; but in order that the one
who had shot him shouldn't get him into his power, he continued to fly as long
as he could. He didn't think whither he was directing his course, but only
struggled to get far away. When his strength failed him, so that he could not
fly any farther, he was no longer on the lake. He had flown a short distance
inland, when he sank down, exhausted, before the entrance to one of the big
farms which lie along the shores of Tåkern.
A moment later, a young farm-hand happened along. He saw Jarro, and came and
lifted him up. But Jarro, who asked for nothing but to be let die in peace,
gathered his waning powers and nipped the farm-hand in the finger, so he should
let go of him.
Jarro could not free himself. The encounter had this good in it at any rate: the
farm-hand noticed that the bird was alive. He carried him very gently into the
cottage, and showed him to the mistress of the house ­ a young woman with a
kindly face. At once she took Jarro from the farm-hand, stroked him on the back
and wiped away the blood that trickled down through the neck-feathers. She
looked him over very carefully; and when she saw how pretty he was, with his
dark-green, shining head, his white neck-band, his brownish-red back, and his
blue wing-mirror, she probably thought it would be a pity for him to die. She
promptly put a basket in order, and tucked the bird into it.
All the while Jarro fluttered and struggled to get loose; but when he understood
that the people had no thought of killing him, he settled down in the basket
with a sense of comfort. Now it was evident how exhausted he had become from
pain and loss of blood. The mistress carried the basket across the floor to
place it in the corner, by the fireplace; but before she put it down Jarro was
already fast asleep.
In a little while Jarro was awakened by some one nudging him gently. When he
opened his eyes he experienced such an awful shock that he almost lost his
senses. Now he was surely lost! for there stood the one who was more dangerous
than either human being or birds of prey. It was no one less than Cæsar himself!
­ the long-haired dog that nosed him inquisitively.
How pitifully scared had he not been the summer before, when he was still a
little yellow-down duckling, every time he had heard the warning call: "Cæsar is
coming! Cæsar is coming!" Whenever he had seen the brown and white spotted dog
with the teeth-filled jowls come wading through the reeds, he believed that he
had beheld death itself. He had always hoped that he would never have to live
