teacher; not for his schoolmates; not for the boys in the neighborhood. All that
they had wished to have him do ­ whether it had been work or play ­ he had only
thought tiresome. Therefore there was no one whom he missed or longed for.
The only ones that he had come anywhere near agreeing with, were Osa, the goose
girl, and little Mats ­ a couple of children who had tended geese in the fields,
like himself. But he didn't care particularly for them either. No, far from it!
" I don't want to be human," bawled the boy. "I want to go with you to Lapland.
That's why I've been good for a whole week!" "I don't want to forbid you to come
along with us as far as you like," said Akka, "but think first if you wouldn't
rather go home again. A day may come when you will regret this."
"No," said the boy, "that's nothing to regret. I have never been so well off as
here with you."
"Well then, let it be as you wish," said Akka.
"Thanks!" said the boy, and he felt so happy that he had to cry for very joy ­
just as he had cried before with sorrow.
"'I DON'T WANT TO BE HUMAN,' SAID HE"
[Next]
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
Ann Youmans, Danielle Rupinski, and Amalia Donde.
Chapter IV.
"Chapter IV." 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. 69-84.
CHAPTER FOUR
GLIMMINGE CASTLE
BLACK RATS AND GRAY RATS
IN SOUTHEASTERN SKÅNE, not far from the sea, there is an old castle called
Glimminge. It is a big substantial stone structure; and can be seen over the
plain for miles around. It is not more than four storied high; but it is so
ponderous that an ordinary farmhouse, which stands on the same estate, looks
like a little children's playhouse by comparison.
The big stone house has such thick ceilings and walls that there is scarcely
room in its interior for anything but the thick walls. The stairs are narrow,
the entrances small, and the rooms few. That the walls might retain their
strength, there are only the fewest number of windows in the upper stories, and
none at all are to be found in the lower ones. In the old war times, the people
were just as glad that they could shut themselves up in a strong and massive
house like this as one is nowadays to be able to creep into furs in a snapping
cold winter. But when the time of peace came, they did not care to live in the
dark and cold stone halls of the old castle any longer. They have long since
deserted the big Glimminge Castle, and moved into dwelling places where the
light and air can penetrate.
At the time when Nils Holgersson wandered around with the wild geese, there were
no human beings in Glimminge Castle; but for all that, it was not without
inhabitants. Every summer there lived a stork couple in a large nest on the
roof. In a nest in the attic lived a pair of gray owls; in the secret passages
hung bats; in the kitchen oven lived an old cat; and down in the cellar there
were hundreds of old black rats.
Rats are not held in very high esteem by other animals; but the black rats at
Glimminge Castle were an exception. They were always mentioned with respect,
because they had shown great valour in battle with their enemies; and great
endurance under the terrible misfortunes which had befallen their kind. They
nominally belonged to a rat folk that at one time had been very numerous and
powerful but were now dying out. During a long period of time, the black rats
owned Skåne and the whole country. They were to be found in every cellar; in
every attic; in larders and cowhouses and barns; in breweries and flour-mills;
in churches and castles; in every man-constructed building. But now they were
banished from all this ­ and were almost extinct. Only in one and another old
and secluded spot could one run across a few of them; and nowhere were they to
be found in such large numbers as in Glimminge Castle.
When an animal folk die out, it is generally the human kind who are the cause of
it; but such was not the case in this instance. The people had certainly
struggled with the black rats, but they had not been able to do them any harm
worth mentioning. Those who had conquered them were an animal folk of their own
kind, called gray rats.
These gray rats had not lived in the land from time immemorial, like the black
rats, but were descended from a couple of poor immigrants who landed in Malmö
from a Libyan sloop about a hundred years ago. They were homeless, starved-out
wretches that stuck close to the harbour, swam in among the piles under the
bridges, and ate refuse that had been thrown in the water. They never ventured
into the city, which was owned by the black rats.
But gradually, as the gray rats increased in number, they grew bolder. At first
they moved over to some waste places and condemned old houses which the black
rats had abandoned. They hunted their food in gutters and dirt heaps, and made
the most of all the rubbish which the black rats did not deign to take care of.
They were hardy, contented and fearless; and within a few years they had become
so powerful that they undertook to drive the black rats out of Malmö. They took
from them attics, cellars and storerooms, starved them out or bit them to death,
for they were not at all afraid of fighting.
When Malmö was captured, they marched forward in small and large companies to
conquer the whole country. It is almost impossible to comprehend why the black
rats did not muster themselves into a great, united war-expedition to
exterminate the gray rats, while these were still few in number. But the black
rats were so certain of their power that they could not believe it possible for
them to lose it. They sat still on their estates, and in the meantime the gray
rats took from them farm after farm, city after city. They were starved out,
forced out, rooted out. In Skåne they had not been able to maintain themselves
in a single place except Glimminge Castle.
The old castle had such secure walls and such few rat passages led through these
that the black rats had managed to protect themselves, and to prevent the gray
rats from crowding in. Night after night, year after year, the struggle had
continued between the aggressors and the defenders; but the black rats had kept
faithful watch, and had fought with the utmost contempt for death, and, thanks
to the fine old house, they had always conquered.
It will have to be acknowledged that as long as the black rats were in power
they were as much shunned by all other living creatures as the gray rats are in
our day ­ and for just cause; they had thrown themselves upon poor, fettered
prisoners, and tortured them; they had ravished the dead; they had stolen the
last turnip from the cellars of the poor; bitten off the feet of sleeping geese;
stolen eggs and chicks from the hens; and had committed a thousand depredations.
But since they had come to grief, all this seemed to have been forgotten; and no
one could help but marvel at the last of a race that had held out so long
against its enemies.
The gray rats that lived in the courtyard at Glimminge and in the neighbourhood,
kept up a continuous warfare and were always on the watch for every possible
chance to capture the castle. One should think that they would have allowed the
little company of black rats to occupy Glimminge Castle in peace, since they
themselves had acquired all the rest of the country; but you may be sure that
this thought never occurred to them. They were wont to say that it was a point
of honour with them to conquer the black rats at some time or other. But those
who were acquainted with the gray rats must have known that it was because the
human kind used Glimminge Castle as a storehouse for grain that the gray ones
could not rest until they had gained possession of the place.
THE STORK
Monday, March twenty-eighth.
EARLY one morning the wild geese, who stood and slept on the ice in Vomb Lake,
were awakened by long calls from the air. "Trirop, Trirop!" it sounded.
"Trianut, the crane, sends greetings to Akka, the wild goose, and her flock.
To-morrow will be the day of the great Crane Dance on Kullaberg."
Akka raised her head and answered at once: "Greetings and thanks! Greetings and
thanks!"
With that, the cranes flew farther; and the wild geese heard them for a long
time ­ while they travelled and called out over every field, and every wooded
hill: "Trianut sends greetings. To-morrow will be the day of the great Crane
Dance on Kullaberg."
The wild geese were very happy over this invitation. "You're in luck," they said
to the white goosey-gander, "to be permitted to attend the great Crane Dance on
Kullaberg!" "Is it then so remarkable to see cranes dance?" asked the
goosey-gander. "It is something that you have never even dreamed about!" replied
the wild geese.
"Now we must think out what we shall do with Thumbietot to-morrow, so that no
harm will come to him while we run over to Kullaberg," said Akka. "Thumbietot
shall not be left alone!" said the goosey-gander. "If the cranes won't let him
see their dance, then I'll stay here with him."
"No human being has ever been permitted to attend the Animals' Congress, at
Kullaberg," said Akka, "and I shouldn't dare to take Thumbietot along. But we'll
discuss this more at length later in the day. Now we must first and foremost
think about getting something to eat."
With that Akka gave the signal to adjourn. On this day she also sought her
feeding-place a good distance away, on Smirre Fox's account, and she didn't
alight until she came to the swampy meadows a little to the south of Glimminge
Castle.
All that day the boy sat on the shores of a little pond, and blew on reed-pipes.
He was out of sorts because he shouldn't see the Crane Dance, and he just
couldn't say a word, either to the goosey-gander or to any of the others.
It was mighty hard that Akka should still doubt him. When a boy had given up
being human, just to travel around with a few miserable wild geese, they surely
ought to understand that he had no desire to betray them. Then, too, they ought
to realize that when he had renounced so much to follow them, it was their duty
to let him see all the wonders they could show him.
"I'll have to speak my mind right out to them," thought he. But hour after hour
passed by still he hadn't come round to it. It may sound remarkable ­ but the
boy had actually acquired a kind of respect for the old leader-goose. He felt
that it was not easy to pit his will against hers.
On one side of the swampy meadow, where the wild geese fed, there was a broad
stone hedge. Toward evening when the boy finally raised his head to speak to
Akka, his glance happened to rest on this hedge. He uttered a little cry of
surprise, and instantly all the wild geese looked up, and stared in the same
direction. At first, both the geese and the boy thought that all the round, gray
stones in the hedge had acquired legs and had started on a run; but soon they
saw that a company of rats was running there. They moved very rapidly, and ran
forward packed tightly, line upon line, and they were so many that, for some
time, they covered the entire stone hedge.
The boy had been afraid of rats, even when he was a big, strong human being.
Then what must his feelings be now, when he was so tiny that two or three of
them could overpower him! One shudder after another travelled down his spinal
column as he stood and stared at them.
But strangely enough, the wild geese seemed to feel the same aversion toward the
rats that he did. They did not speak to them; and when they were gone, they
shook themselves as if their feathers had been mud-bespattered.
"So many gray rats abroad!" said Iksi from Vassijaure. "That's not a good omen."
The boy intended to take advantage of this opportunity to say to Akka that he
thought she ought to let him go with them to Kullaberg, but he was prevented
anew, for all of a sudden a big bird came down among the geese.
One could think, when looking at this bird, that he had borrowed body, neck and
head from a little white goose. But in addition, he had procured for himself
large black wings, long red legs, and a thick bill, which was too large for the
little head, and weighed it down until it gave him a sad and worried look.
Akka at once straightened out the folds of her wings, and courtsied many times
as she approached the stork. She wasn't specially surprised to see him in Skåne
so early in the spring, because she knew that the male storks always came over
in good season to have a look at the nest, to make sure that it has suffered no
damage during the winter, before the female storks go to the trouble of flying
over the Baltic. But she very much wondered what could be the meaning of his
seeking her out, since storks prefer to associate with members of their own
family.
"I can hardly believe that there is anything amiss with your house, Herr
Ermenrich," said Akka.
Now it was apparent that the old saying is true: a stork seldom opens his bill
without complaining. But that which made the things he said sound all the more
doleful was, that it was difficult for him to speak up. He stood a long time and
only clattered with his bill; afterward he spoke in a hoarse and feeble voice.
He complained about everything: the nest, which was situated at the very top of
