She comes begging. She is mean, greedy for gifts, although she is so rich. In the clefts2 of the mountain she hides heavy bars of white silver; and in the rich meadows far away on the heights feed her great flocks of black cattle with golden horns. Still she wanders about in birch-bark shoes and greasy3 leather skirt soiled with the dirt of a hundred years. She smokes moss4 in her pipe and begs of the poorest. Shame on one who is never grateful, never gets enough!
She is old. When did the rosy5 glory of youth dwell in that broad face with its brown greasy skin, in the flat nose and the small eyes, which gleam in the surrounding dirt like coals of fire in gray ashes? When did she sit as a young girl on the mountain-side and answer with her horn the shepherd-boy’s love-songs? She has lived several hundred years. The oldest do not remember the time when she did[299] not wander through the land. Their fathers had seen her old when they were young. Nor is she yet dead. I who write, myself have seen her.
She is powerful. She does not bend for any one. She can summon the hail, she can guide the lightning. She can lead the herds6 astray and set wolves on the sheep. Little good can she do, but much evil. It is best to be on good terms with her! If she should beg for your only goat and a whole pound of wool, give it to her; if you don’t the horse will fall, or the cottage will burn, or the cow will sicken, or the child will die.
A welcome guest she never is. But it is best to meet her with smiling lips! Who knows for whose sake the bearer of disaster is roaming through the valley? She does not come only to fill her beggar’s-pouch. Evil omens7 go with her; the army worm shows itself, foxes and owls8 howl and hoot9 in the twilight10, red and black serpents, which spit venom11, crawl out of the wood up to the very threshold.
Charms can she chant, philters can she brew12. She knows all herbs. Everybody trembles with fear when they see her; but the strong daughter of the wilderness13 goes calmly on her way among them, protected by their dread14. The exploits of her race are not forgotten, nor are her own. As the cat trusts in its claws, so does she trust in her wisdom and in the strength of her divinely inspired prophecies. No king is more sure of his might than she of the kingdom of fear in which she rules.
The witch of Dovre has wandered through many villages. Now she has come to Borg, and does not fear to wander up to the castle. She seldom goes to[300] the kitchen door. Right up the terrace steps she comes. She plants her broad birch-bark shoes on the flower-bordered gravel-walks as calmly as if she were tramping up mountain paths.
Countess M?rta has just come out on the steps to admire the beauty of the June day. Below her two maids have stopped on their way to the store-house. They have come from the smoke-house, where the bacon is being smoked, and are carrying newly cured hams on a pole between them. “Will our gracious Countess feel and smell?” say the maids. “Are the hams smoked enough?”
Countess M?rta, mistress at Borg at that time, leans over the railing and looks at the hams, but in the same instant the old Finn woman lays her hand on one of them.
The daughter of the mountains is not accustomed to beg and pray! Is it not by her grace that flowers thrive and people live? Frost and storm and floods are all in her power to send. Therefore she does not need to pray and beg. She lays her hand on what she wants, and it is hers.
Countess M?rta, however, knows nothing of the old woman’s power.
“Away with you, beggar-woman!” she says.
“Give me the ham,” says the witch.
“She is mad,” cries the countess. And she orders the maids to go to the store-house with their burden.
The eyes of the old woman flame with rage and greed.
“Give me the brown ham,” she repeats, “or it will go ill with you.”
“I would rather give it to the magpies15 than to such as you.”
[301]
Then the old woman is shaken by a storm of rage. She stretches towards heaven her runic-staff and waves it wildly. Her lips utter strange words. Her hair stands on end, her eyes shine, her face is distorted.
“You shall be eaten by magpies yourself,” she screams at last.
Then she goes, mumbling16 curses, brandishing17 her stick. She turns towards home. Farther towards the south does she not go. She has accomplished18 her errand, for which she had travelled down from the mountains.
Countess M?rta remains19 standing20 on the steps and laughs at her extravagant21 anger; but on her lips the laugh will soon die away, for there they come. She cannot believe her eyes. She thinks that she is dreaming, but there they come, the magpies who are going to eat her.
From the park and the garden they swoop22 down on her, magpies by scores, with claws ready to seize and bills stretched out to strike. They come with wild screams. Black and white wings gleam before her eyes. She sees as in delirium23 behind this swarm24 the magpies of the whole neighborhood approaching; the whole heaven is full of black and white wings. In the bright morning sun the metallic25 colors of the feathers glisten26. In smaller and smaller circles the monsters fly about the countess, aiming with beaks27 and claws at her face and hands. She has to escape into the hall and shut the door. She leans against it, panting with terror, while the screaming magpies circle about outside.
From that time on she is shut in from the sweetness and green of the summer and from the joy of[302] life. For her were only closed rooms and drawn28 curtains; for her, despair; for her, terror; for her, confusion, bordering on madness.
Mad this story too may seem, but it must also be true. Hundreds will recognize it and bear witness that such is the old tale.
The birds settled down on the railing and the roof. They sat as if they only waited till the countess should show herself, to throw themselves upon her. They took up their abode29 in the park and there they remained. It was impossible to drive them away. It was only worse if they shot them. For one that fell, ten came flying. Sometimes great flocks flew away to get food, but faithful sentries30 always remained behind. And if Countess M?rta showed herself, if she looked out of a window or only drew aside the curtain for an instant, if she tried to go out on the steps,—they came directly. The whole terrible swarm whirled up to the house on thundering wings, and the countess fled into her inner room.
She lived in the bedroom beyond the red drawing-room. I have often heard the room described, as it was during that time of terror, when Borg was besieged31 by magpies. Heavy quilts before the doors and windows, thick carpets on the floor, softly treading, whispering people.
In the countess’s heart dwelt wild terror. Her hair turned gray. Her face became wrinkled. She grew old in a month. She could not steel her heart to doubt of hateful magic. She started up from her dreams with wild cries that the magpies were eating her. She wept for days over this fate, which she could not escape. Shunning32 people, afraid that the swarm of birds should follow on the heels of any one[303] coming in, she sat mostly silent with her hands before her face, rocking backwards33 and forwards in her chair, low-spirited and depressed34 in the close air, sometimes starting up with cries of lamentation35.
No one’s life could be more bitter. Can any one help pitying her?
I have not much more to tell of her now, and what I have said has not been good. It is as if my conscience smote36 me. She was good-hearted and cheerful when she was young, and many merry stories about her have gladdened my heart, although there has been no space to tell them here.
But it is so, although that poor wayfarer37 did not know it, that the soul is ever hungry. On frivolity38 and play it cannot live. If it gets no other food, it will like a wild beast first tear others to pieces and then itself.
That is the meaning of the story.
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1
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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2
clefts
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| n.裂缝( cleft的名词复数 )；裂口；cleave的过去式和过去分词；进退维谷 | |
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3
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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4
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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6
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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7
omens
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| n.前兆，预兆( omen的名词复数 ) | |
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8
owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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9
hoot
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| n.鸟叫声，汽车的喇叭声； v.使汽车鸣喇叭 | |
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10
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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11
venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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12
brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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13
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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14
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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15
magpies
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| 喜鹊（magpie的复数形式） | |
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16
mumbling
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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17
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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18
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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19
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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20
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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21
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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22
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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23
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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24
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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25
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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26
glisten
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| vi.（光洁或湿润表面等）闪闪发光，闪闪发亮 | |
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27
beaks
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| n.鸟嘴( beak的名词复数 )；鹰钩嘴；尖鼻子；掌权者 | |
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28
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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29
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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30
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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31
besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
shunning
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的现在分词 ) | |
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33
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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34
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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35
lamentation
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| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
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36
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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37
wayfarer
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| n.旅人 | |
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38
frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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