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Rex Stout - "Under the Andes"

Wilkie Collins - "The Law and the Lady"

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Boyhood in Norway

H >> Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen >> Boyhood in Norway




The fame of Lady Clare spread through the parish like fire in
withered grass. People came from afar to look at her, and
departed full of wonder at her beauty. When the captain and his
son rode together to church on Sunday morning, men, women, and
children stood in rows at the roadside staring at the wonderful
mare as if she had been a dromedary or a rhinoceros. And when
she was tied in the clergyman's stable a large number of the men
ignored the admonition of the church bells and missed the sermon,
being unable to tear themselves away from Lady Clare's charms.
But woe to him who attempted to take liberties with her; there
were two or three horsy young men who had narrow escapes from
bearing the imprint of her iron shoes for the rest of their days.

That taught the others a lesson, and now Lady Clare suffered from
no annoying familiarities, but was admired at a respectful
distance, until the pastor, vexed at her rivalry with his sermon,
issued orders to have the stable-door locked during service.

There was one person besides the pastor who was ill pleased at
the reputation Lady Clare was making. That was John Garvestad,
the owner of Valders-Roan. John was the richest man in the
parish, and always made a point of keeping fine horses.
Valders-Roan, a heavily built, powerful horse, with a tremendous
neck and chest and long tassels on his fetlocks, but rather squat
in the legs, had hitherto held undisputed rank as the finest
horse in all Sogn. By the side of Lady Clare he looked as a
stout, good-looking peasant lad with coltish manners might have
looked by the side of the daughter of a hundred earls.

But John Garvestad, who was naturally prejudiced in favor of his
own horse, could scarcely be blamed for failing to recognize her
superiority. He knew that formerly, on Sundays, the men were
wont to gather with admiring comment about Valders-Roan; while
now they stood craning their necks, peering through the windows
of the parson's stable, in order to catch a glimpse of Lady
Clare, and all the time Valders-Roan was standing tied to the
fence, in full view of all, utterly neglected. This spectacle
filled him with such ire that he hardly could control himself.
His first impulse was to pick a quarrel with Erik; but a second
and far brighter idea presently struck him. He would buy Lady
Clare. Accordingly, when the captain and his son had mounted
their horses and were about to start on their homeward way,
Garvestad, putting Valders-Roan to his trumps, dug his heels into
his sides and rode up with a great flourish in front of the
churchyard gate.

"How much will you take for that mare of yours, captain?" he
asked, as he checked his charger with unnecessary vigor close to
Lady Clare.

"She is not mine to sell," the captain replied. "Lady Clare
belongs to my son."

"Well, what will you take for her, then?" Garvestad repeated,
swaggeringly, turning to Erik.

"Not all the gold in the world could buy her," retorted Erik,
warmly.

Valders-Roan, unable to resist the charms of Lady Clare, had in
the meanwhile been making some cautious overtures toward an
acquaintance. He arched his mighty neck, rose on his hind legs,
while his tremendous forehoofs were beating the air, and cut up
generally--all for Lady Clare's benefit.

She, however, having regarded his performances for awhile with a
mild and somewhat condescending interest, grew a little tired of
them and looked out over the fiord, as a belle might do, with a
suppressed yawn, when her cavalier fails to entertain her.
Valders-Roan, perceiving the slight, now concluded to make more
decided advances. So he put forward his nose until it nearly
touched Lady Clare's, as if he meant to kiss her. But that was
more than her ladyship was prepared to put up with. Quick as a
flash she flung herself back on her haunches, down went her ears,
and hers was the angriest horse's head that ever had been seen in
that parish. With an indignant snort she wheeled around, kicking
up a cloud of dust by the suddenness of the manoeuvre. A less
skilled rider than Erik would inevitably have been thrown by two
such unforeseen jerks; and the fact was he had all he could do to
keep his seat.

"Oho!" shouted Garvestad, "your mare shies; she'll break your
neck some day, as likely as not. You had better sell her before
she gets you into trouble."

"But I shouldn't like to have your broken neck on my conscience,"
Erik replied; "if necks are to be broken by Lady Clare I should
prefer to have it be my own."

The peasant was not clever enough to make out whether this was
jest or earnest. With a puzzled frown he stared at the youth and
finally broke out:

"Then you won't sell her at no price? Anyway, the day you change
your mind don't forget to notify John Garvestad. If it's
spondulix you are after, then here's where there's plenty of
'em."

He slapped his left breast-pocket with a great swagger, looking
around to observe the impression he was making on his audience;
then, jerking the bridle violently, so as to make his horse rear,
he rode off like Alexander on Bucephalus, and swung down upon the
highway.

It was but a few weeks after this occurrence that Captain
Carstens and his son were invited to honor John Garvestad by
their presence at his wedding. They were in doubt, at first, as
to whether they ought to accept the invitation; for some
unpleasant rumors had reached them, showing that Garvestad
entertained unfriendly feelings toward them. He was an intensely
vain man; and the thought that Erik Carstens had a finer horse
than Valders-Roan left him no peace. He had been heard to say
repeatedly that, if that high-nosed youth persisted in his
refusal to sell the mare, he would discover his mistake when,
perhaps, it would be too late to have it remedied. Whatever that
meant, it sufficed to make both Erik and his father uneasy. But,
on the other hand, it would be the worst policy possible, under
such circumstances, to refuse the invitation. For that would be
interpreted either as fear or as aristocratic exclusiveness; and
the captain, while he was new in the district, was as anxious to
avoid the appearance of the one as of the other. Accordingly he
accepted the invitation and on the appointed day rode with his
son into the wide yard of John Garvestad's farm, stopping at the
pump, where they watered their horses. It was early in the
afternoon, and both the house and the barn were thronged with
wedding-guests. From the sitting-room the strains of two fiddles
were heard, mingled with the scraping and stamping of heavy feet.

Another musical performance was in progress in the barn; and all
over the yard elderly men and youths were standing in smaller and
larger groups, smoking their pipes and tasting the beer-jugs,
which were passed from hand to hand. But the moment Lady Clare
was seen all interest in minor concerns ceased, and with one
accord the crowd moved toward her, completely encircling her, and
viewing her with admiring glances that appreciated all her
perfections.

"Did you ever see cleaner-shaped legs on a horse?" someone was
heard to say, and instantly his neighbor in the crowd joined the
chorus of praise, and added: "What a snap and spring there is in
every bend of her knee and turn of her neck and flash of her
eye!"

It was while this chorus of admiration was being sung in all keys
and tones of the whole gamut, that the bridegroom came out of the
house, a little bit tipsy, perhaps, from the many toasts he had
been obliged to drink, and bristling with pugnacity to the ends
of his fingers and the tips of his hair. Every word of praise
that he heard sounded in his ears like a jeer and an insult to
himself. With ruthless thrusts he elbowed his way through the
throng of guests and soon stood in front of the two horses, from
which the captain and Erik had not yet had a chance to dismount.
He returned their greeting with scant courtesy and plunged
instantly into the matter which he had on his mind.

"I reckon you have thought better of my offer by this time," he
said, with a surly swagger, to Erik. "What do you hold your mare
at to-day?"

"I thought we had settled that matter once for all," the boy
replied, quietly. "I have no more intention of selling Lady
Clare now than I ever had."

"Then will ye trade her off for Valders-Roan?" ejaculated
Garvestad, eagerly.

"No, I won't trade her for Valders-Roan or any other horse in
creation."

"Don't be cantankerous, now, young fellow, or you might repent of
it."

"I am not cantankerous. But I beg of you kindly to drop this
matter. I came here, at your invitation, as a guest at your
wedding, not for the purpose of trading horses."

It was an incautious speech, and was interpreted by everyone
present as a rebuke to the bridegroom for his violation of the
rules of hospitality. The captain, anxious to avoid a row,
therefore broke in, in a voice of friendly remonstrance: "My dear
Mr. Garvestad, do let us drop this matter. If you will permit
us, we should like to dismount and drink a toast to your health,
wishing you a long life and much happiness."

"Ah, yes, I understand your smooth palaver," the bridegroom
growled between his teeth. "I have stood your insolence long
enough, and, by jingo, I won't stand it much longer. What will
ye take for your mare, I say, or how much do you want to boot, if
you trade her for Valders-Roan?"

He shouted the last words with furious emphasis, holding his
clinched fist up toward Erik, and glaring at him savagely.

But now Lady Clare, who became frightened perhaps by the loud
talk and violent gestures, began to rear and plunge, and by an
unforeseen motion knocked against the bridegroom, so that he fell
backward into the horse-trough under the pump, which was full of
water. The wedding-guests had hardly time to realize what was
happening when a great splash sent the water flying into their
faces, and the burly form of John Garvestad was seen sprawling
helplessly in the horse-trough. But then--then they realized it
with a vengeance. And a laugh went up--a veritable storm of
laughter--which swept through the entire crowd and re-echoed with
a ghostly hilarity from the mountains. John Garvestad in the
meanwhile had managed to pick himself out of the horse-trough,
and while he stood snorting, spitting, and dripping, Captain
Carstens and his son politely lifted their hats to him and rode
away. But as they trotted out of the gate they saw their host
stretch a big clinched fist toward them, and heard him scream
with hoarse fury: "I'll make ye smart for that some day, so help
me God!"

Lady Clare was not sent to the mountains in the summer, as are
nearly all horses in the Norwegian country districts. She was
left untethered in an enclosed home pasture about half a mile
from the mansion. Here she grazed, rolled, kicked up her heels,
and gambolled to her heart's content. During the long, bright
summer nights, when the sun scarcely dips beneath the horizon and
reappears in an hour, clothed in the breezy garments of morning,
she was permitted to frolic, race, and play all sorts of
improvised games with a shaggy, little, plebeian three-year-old
colt whom she had condescended to honor with her acquaintance.
This colt must have had some fine feeling under his rough coat,
for he never presumed in the least upon the acquaintance, being
perhaps aware of the honor it conferred upon him. He allowed
himself to be abused, ignored, or petted, as it might suit the
pleasure of her royal highness, with a patient, even-tempered
good-nature which was admirable. When Lady Clare (perhaps for
fear of making him conceited) took no notice of him, he showed
neither resentment nor surprise, but walked off with a sheepish
shake of his head. Thus he slowly learned the lesson to make no
exhibition of feeling at the sight of his superior; not to run up
and greet her with a disrespectfully joyous whinny; but calmly
wait for her to recognize him before appearing to be aware of her
presence. It took Lady Clare several months to accustom Shag
(for that was the colt's name) to her ways. She taught him
unconsciously the rudiments of good manners; but he proved
himself docile, and when he once had been reduced to his proper
place he proved a fairly acceptable companion.

During the first and second week after John Garvestad's wedding
Erik had kept Lady Clare stabled, having a vague fear that the
angry peasant might intend to do her harm. But she whinnied so
pitifully through the long light nights that finally he allowed
his compassion to get the better of his anxiety, and once more
she was seen racing madly about the field with Shag, whom she
always beat so ignominiously that she felt half sorry for him,
and as a consolation allowed him gently to claw her mane with his
teeth. This was a privilege which Shag could not fail to
appreciate, though she never offered to return the favor by
clawing him. At any rate, as soon as Lady Clare reappeared in
the meadow Shag's cup of bliss seemed to be full.

A week passed in this way, nothing happened, and Erik's vigilance
was relaxed. He went to bed on the evening of July 10th with an
easy mind, without the remotest apprehension of danger. The sun
set about ten o'clock, and Lady Clare and Shag greeted its last
departing rays with a whinny, accompanied by a wanton kickup from
the rear--for whatever Lady Clare did Shag felt in honor bound to
do, and was conscious of no disgrace in his abject and ape-like
imitation. They had spent an hour, perhaps, in such delightful
performances, when all of a sudden they were startled by a deep
bass whinny, which rumbled and shook like distant thunder. Then
came the tramp, tramp, tramp of heavy hoof-beats, which made the
ground tremble. Lady Clare lifted her beautiful head and looked
with fearless curiosity in the direction whence the sound came.
Shag, of course, did as nearly as he could exactly the same.
What they saw was a big roan horse with an enormous arched neck,
squat feet, and long-tasselled fetlocks.

Lady Clare had no difficulty in recognizing Valders-Roan. But
how big and heavy and ominous he looked in the blood-red
after-glow of the blood-red sunset. For the first time in her
life Lady Clare felt a cold shiver of fear run through her.
There was, happily, a fence between them, and she devoutly hoped
that Valders-Roan was not a jumper. At that moment, however, two
men appeared next to the huge horse, and Lady Clare heard the
sound of breaking fence-rails. The deep hoarse whinny once more
made the air shake, and it made poor Lady Clare shake too, for
now she saw Valders-Roan come like a whirlwind over the field,
and so powerful were his hoof-beats that a clod of earth which
had stuck to one of his shoes shot like a bullet through the air.

He looked so gigantic, so brimming with restrained strength, and
somehow Lady Clare, as she stood quaking at the sight of him, had
never seemed to herself so dainty, frail, and delicate as she
seemed in this moment. She felt herself so entirely at his
mercy; she was no match for him surely. Shag, anxious as ever to
take his cue from her, had stationed himself at her side, and
shook his head and whisked his tail in a non-committal manner.
Now Valders-Roan had cleared the fence where the men had broken
it down; then on he came again, tramp, tramp, tramp, until he was
within half a dozen paces from Lady Clare. There he stopped, for
back went Lady Clare's pretty ears, while she threw herself upon
her haunches in an attitude of defence. She was dimly aware that
this was a foolish thing to do, but her inbred disdain and horror
of everything rough made her act on instinct instead of reason.
Valders-Roan, irritated by this uncalled-for action, now threw
ceremony to the winds, and without further ado trotted up and
rubbed his nose against hers. That was more than Lady Clare
could stand. With an hysterical snort she flung herself about,
and up flew her heels straight into the offending nose,
inflicting considerable damage. Shag, being now quite clear that
the programme was fight, whisked about in exactly the same
manner, with as close an imitation of Lady Clare's snort as he
could produce, and a second pair of steel-shod heels came within
a hair of reducing the enemy's left nostril to the same condition
as the right. But alas for the generous folly of youth! Shag
had to pay dearly for that exhibition of devotion. Valders-Roan,
enraged by this wanton insult, made a dash at Shag, and by the
mere impetus of his huge bulk nearly knocked him senseless. The
colt rolled over, flung all his four legs into the air, and as
soon as he could recover his footing reeled sideways like a
drunken man and made haste to retire to a safe distance.

Valders-Roan had now a clear field and could turn his undivided
attention to Lady Clare. I am not sure that he had not made an
example of Shag merely to frighten her. Bounding forward with
his mighty chest expanded and the blood dripping from his
nostrils, he struck out with a tremendous hind leg and would have
returned Lady Clare's blow with interest if she had not leaped
high into the air. She had just managed by her superior
alertness to dodge that deadly hoof, and was perhaps not prepared
for an instant renewal of the attack. But she had barely gotten
her four feet in contact with the sod when two rows of terrific
teeth plunged into her withers. The pain was frightful, and with
a long, pitiful scream Lady Clare sank down upon the ground, and,
writhing with agony, beat the air with her hoofs. Shag, who had
by this time recovered his senses, heard the noise of the battle,
and, plucking up his courage, trotted bravely forward against the
victorious Valders-Roan. He was so frightened that his heart
shot up into his throat. But there lay Lady Clare mangled and
bleeding. He could not leave her in the lurch, so forward he
came, trembling, just as Lady Clare was trying to scramble to her
feet. Led away by his sympathy Shag bent his head down toward
her and thereby prevented her from rising. And in the same
instant a stunning blow hit him straight in the forehead, a
shower of sparks danced before his eyes, and then Shag saw and
heard no more. A convulsive quiver ran through his body, then he
stretched out his neck on the bloody grass, heaved a sigh, and
died.

Lady Clare, seeing Shag killed by the blow which had been
intended for herself, felt her blood run cold. She was strongly
inclined to run, for she could easily beat the heavy Valders-Roan
at a race, and her fleet legs might yet save her. I cannot say
whether it was a generous wrath at the killing of her humble
champion or a mere blind fury which overcame this inclination.
But she knew now neither pain nor fear. With a shrill scream she
rushed at Valders-Roan, and for five minutes a whirling cloud of
earth and grass and lumps of sod moved irregularly over the
field, and tails, heads, and legs were seen flung and tossed
madly about, while an occasional shriek of rage or of pain
startled the night, and re-echoed with a weird resonance between
the mountains.

It was about five o'clock in the morning of July 11th, that Erik
awoke, with a vague sense that something terrible had happened.
His groom was standing at his bedside with a terrified face,
doubtful whether to arouse his young master or allow him to
sleep.

"What has happened, Anders?" cried Erik, tumbling out of bed.

"Lady Clare, sir----"

"Lady Clare!" shouted the boy. "What about her? Has she been
stolen?"

"No, I reckon not," drawled Anders.

"Then she's dead! Quick, tell me what you know or I shall go
crazy!"

"No; I can't say for sure she's dead either," the groom
stammered, helplessly.

Erik, being too stunned with grief and pain, tumbled in a dazed
fashion about the room, and scarcely knew how he managed to
dress. He felt cold, shivery, and benumbed; and the daylight had
a cruel glare in it which hurt his eyes. Accompanied by his
groom, he hastened to the home pasture, and saw there the
evidence of the fierce battle which had raged during the night.
A long, black, serpentine track, where the sod had been torn up
by furious hoof-beats, started from the dead carcass of the
faithful Shag and moved with irregular breaks and curves up
toward the gate that connected the pasture with the underbrush of
birch and alder. Here the fence had been broken down, and the
track of the fight suddenly ceased. A pool of blood had soaked
into the ground, showing that one of the horses, and probably the
victor, must have stood still for a while, allowing the
vanquished to escape.

Erik had no need of being told that the horse which had attacked
Lady Clare was Valders-Roan; and though he would scarcely have
been able to prove it, he felt positive that John Garvestad had
arranged and probably watched the fight. Having a wholesome
dread of jail, he had not dared to steal Lady Clare; but he had
chosen this contemptible method to satisfy his senseless
jealousy. It was all so cunningly devised as to baffle legal
inquiry. Valders-Roan had gotten astray, and being a heavy
beast, had broken into a neighbor's field and fought with his
filly, chasing her away into the mountains. That was the story
he would tell, of course, and as there had been no witnesses
present, there was no way of disproving it.

Abandoning, however, for the time being all thought of revenge,
Erik determined to bend all his energies to the recovery of Lady
Clare. He felt confident that she had run away from her
assailant, and was now roaming about in the mountains. He
therefore organized a search party of all the male servants on
the estate, besides a couple of volunteers, making in all nine.
On the evening of the first day's search they put up at a saeter
or mountain chalet. Here they met a young man named Tollef
Morud, who had once been a groom at John Garvestad's. This man
had a bad reputation; and as the idea occurred to some of them
that he might know something about Lady Clare's disappearance,
they questioned him at great length, without, however, eliciting
a single crumb of information.

For a week the search was continued, but had finally to be given
up. Weary, footsore, and heavy hearted, Erik returned home. His
grief at the loss of Lady Clare began to tell on his health; and
his perpetual plans for getting even with John Garvestad amounted
almost to a mania, and caused his father both trouble and
anxiety. It was therefore determined to send him to the military
academy in the capital.

Four or five years passed and Erik became a lieutenant. It was
during the first year after his graduation from the military
academy that he was invited to spend the Christmas holidays with
a friend, whose parents lived on a fine estate about twenty miles
from the city. Seated in their narrow sleighs, which were drawn
by brisk horses, they drove merrily along, shouting to each other
to make their voices heard above the jingling of the bells.
About eight o'clock in the evening, when the moon was shining
brightly and the snow sparkling, they turned in at a wayside
tavern to order their supper. Here a great crowd of lumbermen
had congregated, and all along the fences their overworked, half-
broken-down horses stood, shaking their nose-bags. The air in
the public room was so filled with the fumes of damp clothes and
bad tobacco that Erik and his friend, while waiting for their
meal, preferred to spend the time under the radiant sky. They
were sauntering about, talking in a desultory fashion, when all
of a sudden a wild, joyous whinny rang out upon the startled air.

It came from a rusty, black, decrepit-looking mare hitched to a
lumber sleigh which they had just passed. Erik, growing very
serious, paused abruptly.

A second whinny, lower than the first, but almost alluring and
cajoling, was so directly addressed to Erik that he could not
help stepping up to the mare and patting her on the nose.

"You once had a horse you cared a great deal for, didn't you?"
his friend remarked, casually.

"Oh, don't speak about it," answered Erik, in a voice that shook
with emotion; "I loved Lady Clare as I never loved any creature
in this world--except my father, of course," he added,
reflectively.

But what was the matter with the old lumber nag? At the sound of
the name Lady Clare she pricked up her ears, and lifted her head
with a pathetic attempt at alertness. With a low, insinuating
neighing she rubbed her nose against the lieutenant's cheek. He
had let his hand glide over her long, thin neck, when quite
suddenly his fingers slid into a deep scar in the withers.

"My God!" he cried, while the tears started to his eyes, "am I
awake, or am I dreaming?"

"What in the world is the matter?" inquired his comrade,
anxiously.

"It is Lady Clare! By the heavens, it is Lady Clare!"

"That old ramshackle of a lumber nag whose every rib you can
count through her skin is your beautiful thoroughbred?"
ejaculated his friend, incredulously. "Come now, don't be a
goose."

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