Nils Holgerssons underbara resa. English

by Selma Lagerlöf

shouldknow their geography, than anything else. Now he came down from thelectern, took the pointer from the boy, and sent him back to his seat."This won't end well," the boy thought then.

  But the schoolmaster had gone over to a window, and had stood there fora moment and looked out, and then he had whistled to himself once. Thenhe had gone up into the lectern and said that he would tell themsomething about Blekinge. And that which he then talked about had beenso amusing that the boy had listened. When he only stopped and thoughtfor a moment, he remembered every word.

  "Smaland is a tall house with spruce trees on the roof," said theteacher, "and leading up to it is a broad stairway with three big steps;and this stairway is called Blekinge. It is a stairway that is wellconstructed. It stretches forty-two miles along the frontage of Smalandhouse, and anyone who wishes to go all the way down to the East sea, byway of the stairs, has twenty-four miles to wander.

  "A good long time must have elapsed since the stairway wasbuilt. Both days and years have gone by since the steps were hewn fromgray stones and laid down--evenly and smoothly--for a convenient trackbetween Smaland and the East sea.

  "Since the stairway is so old, one can, of course, understand that itdoesn't look just the same now, as it did when it was new. I don't knowhow much they troubled themselves about such matters at that time; butbig as it was, no broom could have kept it clean. After a couple ofyears, moss and lichen began to grow on it. In the autumn dry leaves anddry grass blew down over it; and in the spring it was piled up withfalling stones and gravel. And as all these things were left there tomould, they finally gathered so much soil on the steps that not onlyherbs and grass, but even bushes and trees could take root there.

  "But, at the same time, a great disparity has arisen between the threesteps. The topmost step, which lies nearest Smaland, is mostly coveredwith poor soil and small stones, and no trees except birches andbird-cherry and spruce--which can stand the cold on the heights, and aresatisfied with little--can thrive up there. One understands best howpoor and dry it is there, when one sees how small the field-plots are,that are ploughed up from the forest lands; and how many little cabinsthe people build for themselves; and how far it is between the churches.But on the middle step there is better soil, and it does not lie bounddown under such severe cold, either. This one can see at a glance, sincethe trees are both higher and of finer quality. There you'll find mapleand oak and linden and weeping-birch and hazel trees growing, but nocone-trees to speak of. And it is still more noticeable because of theamount of cultivated land that you will find there; and also because thepeople have built themselves great and beautiful houses. On the middlestep, there are many churches, with large towns around them; and inevery way it makes a better and finer appearance than the top step.

  "But the very lowest step is the best of all. It is covered with goodrich soil; and, where it lies and bathes in the sea, it hasn't theslightest feeling of the Smaland chill. Beeches and chestnutand walnut trees thrive down here; and they grow so big that they towerabove the church-roofs. Here lie also the largest grain-fields; but thepeople have not only timber and farming to live upon, but they are alsooccupied with fishing and trading and seafaring. For this reason youwill find the most costly residences and the prettiest churches here;and the parishes have developed into villages and cities.

  "But this is not all that is said of the three steps. For one mustrealise that when it rains on the roof of the big Smaland house, or whenthe snow melts up there, the water has to go somewhere; and then,naturally, a lot of it is spilled over the big stairway. In thebeginning it probably oozed over the whole stairway, big as it was; thencracks appeared in it, and, gradually, the water has accustomed itselfto flow alongside of it, in well dug-out grooves. And water is water,whatever one does with it. It never has any rest. In one place it cutsand files away, and in another it adds to. Those grooves it has dug intovales, and the walls of the vales it has decked with soil; and bushesand trees and vines have clung to them ever since--so thick, and in suchprofusion, that they almost hide the stream of water that winds its waydown there in the deep. But when the streams come to the landings betweenthe steps, they throw themselves headlong over them; this is why thewater comes with such a seething rush, that it gathers strength withwhich to move mill-wheels and machinery--these, too, have sprung up byevery waterfall.

  "But this does not tell all that is said of the land with the threesteps. It must also be told that up in the big house in Smaland therelived once upon a time a giant, who had grown very old. And it fatiguedhim in his extreme age, to be forced to walk down that long stairway inorder to catch salmon from the sea. To him it seemed much more suitablethat the salmon should come up to him, where he lived.

  "Therefore, he went up on the roof of his great house; and there hestood and threw stones down into the East sea. He threw them with suchforce that they flew over the whole of Blekinge and dropped into thesea. And when the stones came down, the salmon got so scared that theycame up from the sea and fled toward the Blekinge streams; ran throughthe rapids; flung themselves with high leaps over the waterfalls, andstopped.

  "How true this is, one can see by the number of islands and points thatlie along the coast of Blekinge, and which are nothing in the world butthe big stones that the giant threw.

  "One can also tell because the salmon always go up in the Blekingestreams and work their way up through rapids and still water, all theway to Smaland.

  "That giant is worthy of great thanks and much honour from the Blekingepeople; for salmon in the streams, and stone-cutting on the island--thatmeans work which gives food to many of them even to this day."

  BY RONNEBY RIVER

  _Friday, April first_.

  Neither the wild geese nor Smirre Fox had believed that they should everrun across each other after they had left Skane. But now it turned outso that the wild geese happened to take the route over Blekinge andthither Smirre Fox had also gone.

  So far he had kept himself in the northern parts of the province; andsince he had not as yet seen any manor parks, or hunting grounds filledwith game and dainty young deer, he was more disgruntled than he couldsay.

  One afternoon, when Smirre tramped around in the desolate forestdistrict of Mellanbygden, not far from Ronneby River, he saw a flock ofwild geese fly through the air. Instantly he observed that one of thegeese was white and then he knew, of course, with whom he had to deal.

  Smirre began immediately to hunt the geese--just as much for thepleasure of getting a good square meal, as for the desire to be avengedfor all the humiliation that they had heaped upon him. He saw that theyflew eastward until they came to Ronneby River. Then they changed theircourse, and followed the river toward the south. He understood that theyintended to seek a sleeping-place along the river-banks, and he thoughtthat he should be able to get hold of a pair of them without muchtrouble. But when Smirre finally discovered the place where the wildgeese had taken refuge, he observed they had chosen such awell-protected spot, that he couldn't get near.

  Ronneby River isn't any big or important body of water; nevertheless, itis just as much talked of, for the sake of its pretty shores. At severalpoints it forces its way forward between steep mountain-walls that standupright out of the water, and are entirely overgrown with honeysuckleand bird-cherry, mountain-ash and osier; and there isn't much that canbe more delightful than to row out on the little dark river on apleasant summer day, and look upward on all the soft green that fastensitself to the rugged mountain-sides.

  But now, when the wild geese and Smirre came to the river, it was coldand blustery spring-winter; all the trees were nude, and there wasprobably no one who thought the least little bit about whether the shorewas ugly or pretty. The wild geese thanked their good fortune that theyhad found a sand-strip large enough for them to stand upon, on a steepmountain wall. In front of them rushed the river, which was strong andviolent in the snow-melting time; behind them they had an impassablemountain rock wall, and overhanging branches screened them. Theycouldn't h
ave it better.

  The geese were asleep instantly; but the boy couldn't get a wink ofsleep. As soon as the sun had disappeared he was seized with a fear ofthe darkness, and a wilderness-terror, and he longed for human beings.Where he lay--tucked in under the goose-wing--he could see nothing, andonly hear a little; and he thought if any harm came to thegoosey-gander, he couldn't save him.

  Noises and rustlings were heard from all directions, and he grew souneasy that he had to creep from under the wing and seat himself on theground, beside the goose.

  Long-sighted Smirre stood on the mountain's summit and looked down uponthe wild geese. "You may as well give this pursuit up first as last," hesaid to himself. "You can't climb such a steep mountain; you can't swimin such a wild torrent; and there isn't the tiniest strip of land belowthe mountain which leads to the sleeping-place. Those geese are too