The Wonderful Adventures of Nils

by Selma Lagerlof

  "What kind of an animal is that?" asked Grayskin in wonderment.

  "He is called Antler-Crown," said Karr, "and he is your kinsman. One of these days you, too, will have broad antlers, like those, and just such a mane; and if you were to remain in the forest, very likely you, also, would have a herd to lead."

  "If he is my kinsman, I must go closer and have a look at him," said

  Grayskin. "I never dreamed that an animal could be so stately!"

  Grayskin walked over to the elk, but almost immediately he came back to

  Karr, who had remained at the edge of the clearing.

  "You were not very well received, were you?" said Karr.

  "I told him that this was the first time I had run across any of my kinsmen, and asked if I might walk with them on their meadow. But they drove me back, threatening me with their antlers."

  "You did right to retreat," said Karr. "A young elk bull with only a taglet crown must be careful about fighting with an old elk. Another would have disgraced his name in the whole forest by retreating without resistance, but such things needn't worry you who are going to move to a foreign land."

  Karr had barely finished speaking when Grayskin turned and walked down to the meadow. The old elk came toward him, and instantly they began to fight. Their antlers met and clashed, and Grayskin was driven backward over the whole meadow. Apparently he did not know how to make use of his strength; but when he came to the edge of the forest, he planted his feet on the ground, pushed hard with his antlers, and began to force Antler-Crown back.

  Grayskin fought quietly, while Antler-Crown puffed and snorted. The old elk, in his turn, was now being forced backward over the meadow. Suddenly a loud crash was heard! A taglet in the old elk's antlers had snapped. He tore himself loose, and dashed into the forest.

  Karr was still standing at the forest border when Grayskin came along.

  "Now that you have seen what there is in the forest," said Karr, "will you come home with me?"

  "Yes, it's about time," observed the elk.

  Both were silent on the way home. Karr sighed several times, as if he was disappointed about something; but Grayskin stepped along—his head in the air—and seemed delighted over the adventure. He walked ahead unhesitatingly until they came to the enclosure. There he paused. He looked in at the narrow pen where he had lived up till now; saw the beaten ground, the stale fodder, the little trough where he had drunk water, and the dark shed in which he had slept.

  "The elk are one with the forest!" he cried. Then he threw back his head, so that his neck rested against his back, and rushed wildly into the woods.

  HELPLESS, THE WATER-SNAKE

  In a pine thicket in the heart of Liberty Forest, every year, in the month of August, there appeared a few grayish-white moths of the kind which are called nun moths. They were small and few in number, and scarcely any one noticed them. When they had fluttered about in the depth of the forest a couple of nights, they laid a few thousand eggs on the branches of trees; and shortly afterward dropped lifeless to the ground.

  When spring came, little prickly caterpillars crawled out from the eggs and began to eat the pine needles. They had good appetites, but they never seemed to do the trees any serious harm, because they were hotly pursued by birds. It was seldom that more than a few hundred caterpillars escaped the pursuers.

  The poor things that lived to be full grown crawled up on the branches, spun white webs around themselves, and sat for a couple of weeks as motionless pupae. During this period, as a rule, more than half of them were abducted. If a hundred nun moths came forth in August, winged and perfect, it was reckoned a good year for them.

  This sort of uncertain and obscure existence did the moths lead for many years in Liberty Forest. There were no insect folk in the whole country that were so scarce, and they would have remained quite harmless and powerless had they not, most unexpectedly, received a helper.

  This fact has some connection with Grayskin's flight from the game-keeper's paddock. Grayskin roamed the forest that he might become more familiar with the place. Late in the afternoon he happened to squeeze through some thickets behind a clearing where the soil was muddy and slimy, and in the centre of it was a murky pool. This open space was encircled by tall pines almost bare from age and miasmic air. Grayskin was displeased with the place and would have left it at once had he not caught sight of some bright green calla leaves which grew near the pool.

  As he bent his head toward the calla stalks, he happened to disturb a big black snake, which lay sleeping under them. Grayskin had heard Karr speak of the poisonous adders that were to be found in the forest. So, when the snake raised its head, shot out its tongue and hissed at him, he thought he had encountered an awfully dangerous reptile. He was terrified and, raising his foot, he struck so hard with his hoof that he crushed the snake's head. Then, away he ran in hot haste!

  As soon as Grayskin had gone, another snake, just as long and as black as the first, came up from the pool. It crawled over to the dead one, and licked the poor, crushed-in head.

  "Can it be true that you are dead, old Harmless?" hissed the snake. "We two have lived together so many years; we two have been so happy with each other, and have fared so well here in the swamp, that we have lived to be older than all the other water-snakes in the forest! This is the worst sorrow that could have befallen me!"

  The snake was so broken-hearted that his long body writhed as if it had been wounded. Even the frogs, who lived in constant fear of him, were sorry for him.

  "What a wicked creature he must be to murder a poor water-snake that cannot defend itself!" hissed the snake. "He certainly deserves a severe punishment. As sure as my name is Helpless and I'm the oldest water-snake in the whole forest, I'll be avenged! I shall not rest until that elk lies as dead on the ground as my poor old snake-wife."

  When the snake had made this vow he curled up into a hoop and began to ponder. One can hardly imagine anything that would be more difficult for a poor water-snake than to wreak vengeance upon a big, strong elk; and old Helpless pondered day and night without finding any solution.

  One night, as he lay there with his vengeance-thoughts, he heard a slight rustle over his head. He glanced up and saw a few light nun moths playing in among the trees.

  He followed them with his eyes a long while; then began to hiss loudly to himself, apparently pleased with the thought that had occurred to him—then he fell asleep.

  The next morning the water-snake went over to see Crawlie, the adder, who lived in a stony and hilly part of Liberty Forest. He told him all about the death of the old water-snake, and begged that he who could deal such deadly thrusts would undertake the work of vengeance. But Crawlie was not exactly disposed to go to war with an elk.

  "If I were to attack an elk," said the adder, "he would instantly kill me. Old Harmless is dead and gone, and we can't bring her back to life, so why should I rush into danger on her account?"

  When the water-snake got this reply he raised his head a whole foot from the ground, and hissed furiously:

  "Vish vash! Vish vash!" he said. "It's a pity that you, who have been blessed with such weapons of defence, should be so cowardly that you don't dare use them!"

  When the adder heard this, he, too, got angry.

  "Crawl away, old Helpless!" he hissed. "The poison is in my fangs, but I would rather spare one who is said to be my kinsman."

  But the water-snake did not move from the spot, and for a long time the snakes lay there hissing abusive epithets at each other.

  When Crawlie was so angry that he couldn't hiss, but could only dart his tongue out, the water-snake changed the subject, and began to talk in a very different tone.

  "I had still another errand, Crawlie," he said, lowering his voice to a mild whisper. "But now I suppose you are so angry that you wouldn't care to help me?"

  "If you don't ask anything foolish of me, I shall certainly be at your service."

  "In the pine trees down by the swamp l
ive a moth folk that fly around all night."

  "I know all about them," remarked Crawlie. "What's up with them now?"

  "They are the smallest insect family in the forest," said Helpless, "and the most harmless, since the caterpillars content themselves with gnawing only pine needles."

  "Yes, I know," said Crawlie.

  "I'm afraid those moths, will soon be exterminated," sighed the water-snake. "There are so many who pick off the caterpillars in the spring."

  Now Crawlie began to understand that the water-snake wanted the caterpillars for his own purpose, and he answered pleasantly:

  "Do you wish me to say to the owls that they are to leave those pine tree worms in peace?"

  "Yes, it would be well if you who have some authority in the forest should do this," said Helpless.

  "I might also drop a good word for the pine needle pickers among the thrushes?" volunteered the adder. "I will gladly serve you when you do not demand anything unreasonable."

  "Now you have given me a good promise, Crawlie," said Helpless, "and I'm glad that I came to you."

  THE NUN MOTHS

  One morning—several years later—Karr lay asleep on the porch. It was in the early summer, the season of light nights, and it was as bright as day, although the sun was not yet up. Karr was awakened by some one calling his name.

  "Is it you, Grayskin?" he asked, for he was accustomed to the elk's nightly visits. Again he heard the call; then he recognized Grayskin's voice, and hastened in the direction of the sound.

  Karr heard the elk's footfalls in the distance, as he dashed into the thickest pine wood, and straight through the brush, following no trodden path. Karr could not catch up with him, and he had great difficulty in even following the trail. "Karr, Karri" came the cry, and the voice was certainly Grayskin's, although it had a ring now which the dog had never heard before.

  "I'm coming, I'm coming!" the dog responded. "Where are you?"

  "Karr, Karr! Don't you see how it falls and falls?" said Grayskin.

  Then Karr noticed that the pine needles kept dropping and dropping from the trees, like a steady fall of rain.

  "Yes, I see how it falls," he cried, and ran far into the forest in search of the elk.

  Grayskin kept running through the thickets, while Karr was about to lose the trail again.

  "Karr, Karr!" roared Grayskin; "can't you scent that peculiar odour in the forest?"

  Karr stopped and sniffed.

  He had not thought of it before, but now he remarked that the pines sent forth a much stronger odour than usual.

  "Yes, I catch the scent," he said. He did not stop long enough to find out the cause of it, but hurried on after Grayskin.

  The elk ran ahead with such speed that the dog could not catch up with him.

  "Karr, Karr!" he called; "can't you hear the crunching on the pines?"

  Now his tone was so plaintive it would have melted a stone.

  Karr paused to listen. He heard a faint but distinct "tap, tap," on the trees. It sounded like the ticking of a watch.

  "Yes, I hear how it ticks," cried Karr, and ran no farther. He understood that the elk did not want him to follow, but to take notice of something that was happening in the forest.

  Karr was standing beneath the drooping branches of a great pine. He looked carefully at it; the needles moved. He went closer and saw a mass of grayish-white caterpillars creeping along the branches, gnawing off the needles. Every branch was covered with them. The crunch, crunch in the trees came from the working of their busy little jaws. Gnawed-off needles fell to the ground in a continuous shower, and from the poor pines there came such a strong odour that the dog suffered from it.

  "What can be the meaning of this?" wondered Karr. "It's too bad about the pretty trees! Soon they'll have no beauty left."

  He walked from tree to tree, trying with his poor eyesight to see if all was well with them.

  "There's a pine they haven't touched," he thought. But they had taken possession of it, too. "And here's a birch—no, this also! The game-keeper will not be pleased with this," observed Karr.

  He ran deeper into the thickets, to learn how far the destruction had spread. Wherever he went, he heard the same ticking; scented the same odour; saw the same needle rain. There was no need of his pausing to investigate. He understood it all by these signs. The little caterpillars were everywhere. The whole forest was being ravaged by them!

  All of a sudden he came to a tract where there was no odour, and where all was still.

  "Here's the end of their domain," thought the dog, as he paused and glanced about.

  But here it was even worse; for the caterpillars had already done their work, and the trees were needleless. They were like the dead. The only thing that covered them was a network of ragged threads, which the caterpillars had spun to use as roads and bridges.

  In there, among the dying trees, Grayskin stood waiting for Karr.

  He was not alone. With him were four old elk—the most respected in the forest. Karr knew them: They were Crooked-Back, who was a small elk, but had a larger hump than the others; Antler-Crown, who was the most dignified of the elk; Rough-Mane, with the thick coat; and an old long-legged one, who, up till the autumn before, when he got a bullet in his thigh, had been terribly hot-tempered and quarrelsome.

  "What in the world is happening to the forest?" Karr asked when he came up to the elk. They stood with lowered heads, far protruding upper lips, and looked puzzled.

  "No one can tell," answered Grayskin. "This insect family used to be the least hurtful of any in the forest, and never before have they done any damage. But these last few years they have been multiplying so fast that now it appears as if the entire forest would be destroyed."

  "Yes, it looks bad," Karr agreed, "but I see that the wisest animals in the forest have come together to hold a consultation. Perhaps you have already found some remedy?"

  When the dog said this, Crooked-Back solemnly raised his heavy head, pricked up his long ears, and spoke:

  "We have summoned you hither, Karr, that we may learn if the humans know of this desolation."

  "No," said Karr, "no human being ever comes thus far into the forest when it's not hunting time. They know nothing of this misfortune."

  Then Antler-Crown said:

  "We who have lived long in the forest do not think that we can fight this insect pest all by ourselves."

  "After this there will be no peace in the forest!" put in Rough-Mane.

  "But we can't let the whole Liberty Forest go to rack and ruin!" protested Big-and-Strong. "We'll have to consult the humans; there is no alternative."

  Karr understood that the elk had difficulty in expressing what they wished to say, and he tried to help them.

  "Perhaps you want me to let the people know the conditions here?" he suggested.

  All the old elk nodded their heads.

  "It's most unfortunate that we are obliged to ask help of human beings, but we have no choice."

  A moment later Karr was on his way home. As he ran ahead, deeply distressed over all that he had heard and seen, a big black water-snake approached them.

  "Well met in the forest!" hissed the water-snake.

  "Well met again!" snarled Karr, and rushed by without stopping.

  The snake turned and tried to catch up to him.

  "Perhaps that creature also, is worried about the forest," thought Karr, and waited.

  Immediately the snake began to talk about the great disaster.

  "There will be an end of peace and quiet in the forest when human beings are called hither," said the snake.

  "I'm afraid there will," the dog agreed; "but the oldest forest dwellers know what they're about!" he added.

  "I think I know a better plan," said the snake, "if I can get the reward

  I wish."

  "Are you not the one whom every one around here calls old Helpless?" said the dog, sneeringly.

  "I'm an old inhabitant of the forest," said the snake
, "and I know how to get rid of such plagues."

  "If you clear the forest of that pest, I feel sure you can have anything you ask for," said Karr.

  The snake did not respond to this until he had crawled under a tree stump, where he was well protected. Then he said:

  "Tell Grayskin that if he will leave Liberty Forest forever, and go far north, where no oak tree grows, I will send sickness and death to all the creeping things that gnaw the pines and spruces!"

  "What's that you say?" asked Karr, bristling up. "What harm has Grayskin ever done you?"

  "He has slain the one whom I loved best," the snake declared, "and I want to be avenged."

  Before the snake had finished speaking, Karr made a dash for him; but the reptile lay safely hidden under the tree stump.

  "Stay where you are!" Karr concluded. "We'll manage to drive out the caterpillars without your help."

  THE BIG WAR OF THE MOTHS

  The following spring, as Karr was dashing through the forest one morning, he heard some one behind him calling: "Karr! Karr!"

  He turned and saw an old fox standing outside his lair.

  "You must tell me if the humans are doing anything for the forest," said the fox.

  "Yes, you may be sure they are!" said Karr. "They are working as hard as they can."

  "They have killed off all my kinsfolk, and they'll be killing me next," protested the fox. "But they shall be pardoned for that if only they save the forest."

  That year Karr never ran into the woods without some animal's asking if the humans could save the forest. It was not easy for the dog to answer; the people themselves were not certain that they could conquer the moths. But considering how feared and hated old Kolmården had always been, it was remarkable that every day more than a hundred men went there, to work. They cleared away the underbrush. They felled dead trees, lopped off branches from the live ones so that the caterpillars could not easily crawl from tree to tree; they also dug wide trenches around the ravaged parts and put up lime-washed fences to keep them out of new territory. Then they painted rings of lime around the trunks of trees to prevent the caterpillars leaving those they had already stripped. The idea was to force them to remain where they were until they starved to death.