Short Stories of Various Types

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After that day, our military operations grew simpler and simpler.
Nothing but a little patience was needed in order to take Berlin. Every
little while, when the old gentleman grew listless, we read him a
letter from his son, an imaginary letter of course, as Paris was by now
cut off, and as since Sedan, the aide-de-camp of Mac Mahon had been
sent to a German fortress.

You can easily imagine the despair of the poor child who heard nothing
from her father, knowing that he was a prisoner, deprived of even
comfort and perhaps sick, while she had to write letters in his name
that were full of joy, brief indeed, such as a soldier would write from
the field, a soldier advancing day by day through the enemy's country.
Sometimes it was too much for her, and weeks went by without a letter.
The old man began to worry and to be unable to sleep. Then presto! a
letter from Germany would arrive, and she would read it gayly at her
grandfather's bedside, holding back her tears.

The old colonel would listen gravely, smile knowingly, approve,
criticize, and explain to us any passage which seemed confused. But it
was in the replies that he made to his son that he was magnificent.
"Never forget that you are French," he wrote. "Be generous to the poor
Germans. Don't let them suffer more than is inevitable from the
invasion of their country." And then came suggestions without end,
charming, moralizing on property rights, the courtesy due to women, a
veritable code of honor for conquerors. All this was interwoven with
reflections on politics and discussions of the peace terms. On this
last point he was not unduly exacting. "Indemnity, and nothing
more--what good would their provinces be to us? A France could never be
made out of a Germany." He dictated that in a firm voice, and one could
not hear him without emotion, there was so much sincerity, so beautiful
a patriotism in what he said.

Meanwhile, the siege was progressing--not the siege of Berlin,
unfortunately! We had reached the period of severe cold, the
bombardment, the epidemics, the famine. But thanks to our efforts, to
the infinite tenderness which enfolded him, the serenity of the old old
man was never troubled. To the end, I was able to get white bread and
fresh meat for him--for him alone, of course. You can't imagine
anything more touching than these luncheons so innocent in their
egotism--the old gentleman sitting up in bed, fresh and smiling, his
napkin tucked under his chin, and his pale little granddaughter at hand
to guide his hand, make him drink, and help him as he ate all these
forbidden good things.

Then, animated by his meal, in the comfort of his warm room, while the
winter's wind whistled outside and the snow flakes whirled around the
windows, the ex-cuirassier told us for the hundredth time the story of
the retreat from Russia when frozen biscuit and horse flesh was all
that there was to eat.

"Do you realize what that means, little one? We had to eat horse!"

Did she realize what that meant! For two months she had eaten no other
meat.

As time went on and the old gentleman recovered little by little, our
task increased in difficulty. The numbness of the senses which had made
it so easy to deceive him was disappearing day by day. Two or three
times already the terrible cannonading at the Porte Maillot had made
him jump, his ear as keen as a hunting dog's, and we had been obliged
to invent a last victory for Bazaine at the gates of Berlin and salvos
fired at the Invalides[273-1] in honor of the event.

Another day, when his bed had been brought over to the window (it was,
I think, the Thursday on which the battle of Buzenval was fought), he
distinctly saw the troops of the National Guard formed on the Avenue de
la Grand Arme.

"What are those troops?" asked the old gentleman, and we heard him
mutter, "Not well set up."

It went no farther, but we understood that thereafter we must take
every precaution. Unfortunately we were not sufficiently careful. One
evening as I reached the house, the little girl came to meet me,
considerably troubled. "It is to-morrow that they enter the city," she
said.

Was the door of her grandfather's bedroom open? In thinking it all over
afterward, I remember that this evening his face wore a very striking
expression. Probably he had overheard us; but while we were talking of
the entry of the Prussians, the old gentleman was thinking of the
triumphant return of the French troops, for which he had so long been
waiting--Mac Mahon marching down the avenue in the midst of flowers,
his son at the marshal's side, and he himself on his balcony wearing
his full dress uniform as he did at Lutzen, saluting the riddled flags
and the powder-blackened eagles.

Poor old Jouve! No doubt he thought that we did not want him to
participate in this review of our troops in the fear that his emotion
would be too much for him, so he carefully avoided speaking of it. But
the next day, at the very minute when the Prussian battalions started
on their march from the Porte Maillot to the Tuileries,[274-1] the
window up there opened gently and the Colonel appeared on the balcony
wearing his helmet, his saber and all the old-fashioned but still
glorious regalia of one of Milhaud's cuirassiers.

I still wonder what will power, what spurt of vitality it had taken to
put him on his feet again in all the trappings of war. At all events,
there he was, standing erect behind the rail, surprised to find the
avenues so large, so silent, the window curtains down, and Paris as
gloomy as a great pesthouse; flags everywhere, but such strange flags
bearing a red cross on a white field, and no crowd to meet our
soldiers.

For an instant he thought he might be mistaken; but no, below, behind
the Arc de Triomphe, there came an indistinct rattle and then a black
line advanced in the early light. Then, little by little, the eagles on
the tops of helmets could be seen shining in the sun, the little drums
of Jena began to beat, and under the Arc de L'Etoile, accented by the
heavy tread of marching men and by the clash of sidearms, Schubert's
Triumphal March burst out.

Suddenly the silence of the Place de L'Etoile was broken by a terrible
cry: "To arms! To arms! The Prussians!" And the four Uhlans[275-1] at
the head of the column could see up there on the balcony a tall old man
stagger and fall. This time Colonel Jouve was really dead.

SELMA LAGERLOeF

The Silver Mine

King Gustav the Third[276-1] was making a hurried trip through Dalarna.
Though the horses seemed to be fairly skimming the ground, the King was
dissatisfied. He leaned out of the window continually urging the driver
to make haste, and his courtiers expected any minute that the royal
coach or harness would break.

Finally the carriage tongue did indeed break. The courtiers leaped from
the coach and after a hasty inspection said that it would be impossible
to continue the journey without repairs. Anxious for the King's
entertainment, they asked him if he would not like to attend the
services in a little church which could be seen a short distance ahead.

The King agreed, and stepping into one of the other carriages, drove to
the church. For hours he had been riding through large tracts of
forest, so he was the more delighted to come out in view of green
fields and small hamlets. The Dalelven sparkled forth, as it glided
between masses of graceful willows.

The King, however, was unable to attend the service, for just as he
stepped from the carriage to the churchyard, the sexton was ringing the
bell for the closing. The worshippers came filing out of the church. As
they passed the King, where he stood with one foot on the carriage
step, he was impressed with their stalwart bearing and sturdy,
wholesome appearance.

On the preceding day the King had remarked to his courtiers upon the
poverty of the country they were passing through. "Apparently now," he
said, "I am driving through the poorest section of my domain." When he
saw these people, however, he forgot about the poverty of the country.
His heart warmed within him and he said to himself, "The Swedish King
is not in such poor circumstances as some of his enemies would believe.
As long as my subjects remain as fine and wholesome as these are, I
shall be able to defend successfully my crown and my land."

Then he commanded a courtier to tell the people that the stranger among
them was their King, and that he wished them to gather around in order
that he might address them.

He spake to them, standing upon the top step that led into the
sanctuary, and the step upon which he stood may be found there to this
day.

The King first told his people how matters stood within the kingdom.
Sweden had been attacked by both Russia and Denmark. Under ordinary
circumstances this would not be alarming, but at present the army was
so filled with traitors[277-1] that he could hardly depend on it. He
saw, therefore, no alternative but to go out himself to the small towns
and ask his subjects whether they wished to side with the traitors or
were willing to help the King with soldiers and money to save the
Fatherland.

While he was making this earnest appeal, the sturdy peasants stood
attentively before him, making no comment, nor giving any sign as to
whether they agreed or not. Now the King had felt inwardly pleased at
the forcefulness of his own appeal, so when the men stood silent,
unable to give their answer, he frowned and showed his disappointment.

The farmers understood that the King was impatient for their reply, and
at length one stepped forward. "Now you must know, King Gustav," he
said, "that we were not expecting a visit from our King here to-day. We
are therefore not prepared to answer you immediately. I would suggest
that you go into the sanctuary and speak with our minister while we
discuss among ourselves this matter which you have presented to us."

The King, perceiving that no better solution was possible, decided to
take the farmer's advice.

When he entered the study, he found no one there except an old farmer.
He was tall and rough, with hands large and horny from hard work. He
wore neither robe nor collar, but only leather breeches and a long
white homespun coat, like the other peasants. He arose and bowed as the
King entered.

"I believed that I should meet the minister here," said the King.

The other reddened with embarrassment, for he realized that it might be
annoying to the King to be told that he had mistaken the minister for a
farmer.

"Yes," he admitted, "the pastor is usually found here."

The King seated himself in a large armchair that stood in the study at
that time, and which still stands there with a single change; the
congregation has placed upon the back a gold crown.

"Have you a good minister here?" asked the King, wishing to show
interest in the people's welfare.

When the King questioned him thus, the pastor felt that it was
impossible to admit who he was. He decided that it was better to let
the King think he was only a farmer, so he answered: "The minister is
fair; he preaches the clear word of God, and he tries to live as he
preaches."

The King thought this a good recommendation. His sharp ear, however,
had detected a certain hesitation in the tone of the man. He said,
therefore, "It sounds, though, as if you are not entirely satisfied
with your pastor."

"He may be a bit hardheaded," said the other, thinking inwardly, "If
the King should later discover who I am, he will realize that I did not
pour compliments over myself." He decided, therefore, to come out with
a bit of criticism. "There be those who would say that the minister is
inclined to want to be the ruler in this hamlet," he continued.

"Then he has surely directed and managed everything in the best
possible way," said the King. He was not pleased to have the farmer
finding fault with some one placed over him. "It appears to me that
everything here is ruled by good habit and old-fashioned simplicity."

"The people are good," said the minister, "because they live in a
remote place in isolation and poverty. The people here would probably
be no better than others if the trials and temptations of the world
came nearer to them."

"There is little chance that this will happen," said the King with a
shrug of his shoulder.

He said nothing further but began drumming on the table with his
fingers. He felt that he had exchanged enough words with this farmer,
and wondered when the people would be ready with their answer.

"Those peasants are not very eager about coming to their King with
aid," he thought. "If my coach were only ready, I would drive away from
them and their deliberations."

The minister, deeply troubled, strove within himself as to how he
should act on an important question that must be settled quickly. He
felt glad that he had not told the King who he was, for now he could
discuss matters that otherwise he would have been unable to bring
forward.

After a time he broke the embarrassing silence by asking the King if it
really were true that enemies were besieging them and their kingdom was
in danger.

The King, feeling that this person should have sense enough to leave
him undisturbed, looked at him for a time without reply.

"I asked the question because, standing within the study here, I could
not hear clearly what you said to the people. But in case it is true, I
should like to state that the pastor of this parish might possibly be
in a position to furnish the King as much money as he would need."

"I thought you said that every one here was poor," said the King,
thinking that the farmer did not know what he was talking about.

"Yes, that is true," agreed the pastor, "and the minister has no more
than any other. But if the King will honor me by listening, I will
explain how it is that the minister has power to help."

"You may speak," said King Gustav. "You seem to find it easier to
express yourself than your friends and neighbors outside, who never
will be ready with their answer."

"It is not an easy matter to answer a King. I fear that, in the end, it
will be necessary for their pastor to speak in their stead."

The King crossed his knees, folded his arms, and dropped his head. "You
may begin," he said, with an air of preparing to fall asleep.

"Once upon a time the pastor and four men from his parish went elk
hunting," began the minister. "Besides the pastor, there were two
soldiers, Olaf and Erik Svard, the landlord of the village, and a
farmer named Israels Pers Perssons."

"Should not mention so many names," grumbled the King, as he shifted
his head a bit.

"The men were good hunters and usually had good luck, but this day they
traveled far without getting any game. At last they gave up the hunt
and sat down on the ground to talk. They remarked upon the strange fact
that so large a section of the country should be unsuitable for
cultivation. All was rocks, hills, or morass.

"'Our Lord has not done right by us, when he has given us such poor
land to live in,' said one of them. 'In other sections people have
riches and plenty, but here in spite of all our efforts we can hardly
get sufficient for our daily needs.'"

The minister stopped a moment as if uncertain whether the King had
heard him. The King, however, moved his little finger as a sign that he
was still awake.

"As the hunters were talking of their ill fortune, the minister noticed
something glittering where he had overturned a bit of moss with his
boot. 'This is a remarkable mountain,' he thought. Overturning more of
the moss and picking up a piece of stone that clung to it, he
exclaimed, 'Can it be possible that this is lead ore!'

"The others came eagerly over to the speaker and began uncovering the
rock with their rifle stocks. They thus exposed a broad mineral vein on
the side of the mountain.

"'What do you suppose this is?' asked the minister.

"Each man broke loose a piece of the rock and, biting it as a crude
test, said he thought it should be at least zinc or lead.

"'And the whole mountain is full of it,' eagerly ventured the
landlord."

When the minister had reached this stage of the story, the King
slightly raised his head and partly opened one eye.

"Do you know if any of these persons had any knowledge of minerals or
geology?"

"No, they did not," answered the minister. Whereupon the King's head
sank and both eyes closed.

"The minister and those with him were highly pleased," continued the
pastor, undisturbed by the King's indifference. "They believed that
they had found something which would enrich not only themselves, but
their posterity as well.

"'Nevermore shall I need to work,' said one of them. 'I can do nothing
the whole week through and on Sunday I shall ride to church in a gold
chariot.'

"These were usually men of good sense, but their great discovery had
gone to their heads, so that now they spoke like children. They had
enough presence of mind, however, to lay the moss carefully back in
place so as to hide the mineral vein. Then, after taking careful note
of the location, they journeyed home.

"Before parting, they all agreed that the minister should go to Falun
and ask the mineralogist there what kind of ore this might be. He was
to return as soon as possible, and until then they all swore by a
binding oath that they would not reveal to any person the location of
the ore."

The king slightly raised his head but did not interrupt the narrative.
He began to believe apparently that the man really had something
important to tell, though he did not permit himself to be aroused out
of his indifference.

"The minister started upon his journey with a few samples of ore in his
pocket. He was just as happy in the thought of becoming wealthy as any
of the others were. He mused upon how he would repair the parsonage
that now was no better than a cottage; and how he could marry the
daughter of the bishop, as he had long desired. Otherwise he would be
compelled to wait for her many years, for he was poor and obscure, and
he knew it would be a long time before he would be assigned to a place
that would enable him to marry the girl of his choice.

"The minister's journey to Falun took him two days. There he was
compelled to wait a day for the return of the mineralogist. When he
finally showed the samples of the ore, the man took them in his hand,
looked at them, and then at the stranger. The minister told the story
of how he had found these samples in the vicinity of his home, and
asked if they might be lead.

"'No, it is not lead.'

"'Zinc, then?' faltered the minister.

"'No, neither is it zinc.'

"All hope sank within the breast of the minister. He had not felt so
downcast in many a day.

"'Do you have many stones like these in your country?' asked the
mineralogist.

"'We have a whole mountain,' answered the minister.

"Then the man advanced toward the minister and slapping him on the
shoulder said, 'Let us see that you make such use of it that will bring
great good both to you and to our Kingdom, for you have found silver.'"

"'Is that true?' said the minister rather dazed; 'so it is silver?'

"The mineralogist explained to him what he should do in order to obtain
legal rights to the mine, and gave him much good advice, also. The
minister, however, stood bewildered and heard not a word that was said.
He thought only of the wonderful news that back home in his poor
neighborhood lay a whole mountain of silver ore waiting for him."

The King raised his head so suddenly that the minister broke off the
narrative. "I suppose when the minister came home and began working the
mine he found that the mineralogist had misinformed him."

"No," said the minister, "it was as the man had said."

"You may continue," and the King settled himself again to listen.

"When the minister reached home, the first thing he did was to start
out to tell his comrades of the value of their find. As he drove up to
Landlord Stensson's place, where he had intended to go in and inform
his friend that they had found silver, he paused at the gate, for he
saw that white sheets had been hung before the windows and a broad path
of hemlock boughs led up to the door step."

"'Who has died here?' inquired the minister of a little boy who stood
leaning against the fence.

"'It is the landlord himself.' Then he told the minister that for a
week past the landlord had been drinking ever and ever so much liquor,
until he was drunk all the time.

"'How can that be?' asked the pastor. 'The landlord never before drank
to excess.'

"'Well, you see,' said the boy, 'he drank because he was possessed with
the idea that he had found a mine. He was so rich, he said, that he
would never need to do anything now but drink. Last night he drove out,
drunk as he was, and fell out of the carriage and was killed.'

"After the minister had heard all this, he started homeward, grieving
over what he had learned. And only a moment before he had been so
elated over the good news he had to tell his friends.

"When the minister had gone a short distance, he met Israels Pers
Persson walking along the road. He appeared as usual and the minister
was glad that their good fortune had not turned his head. He would
immediately gladden him with the news that he was now a rich man.

"'Good-day!' said the minister.

"'Do you come now from Falun?'

"'Yes, and I can tell you that things turned out better than we
thought. The mineralogist said that it was silver ore.'

"Pers Persson looked as if the earth had opened to engulf him. 'What is
it you say? Is it silver?'

"'Yes, we shall all be rich men now and able to live as royalty.'

"'Oh, is it silver?' repeated Pers Persson, in still greater dejection.

"'It certainly is silver,' said the minister. 'Don't think that I would
deceive you. You should not be afraid of being glad.'

"'Glad!' said Pers Persson, 'should I be glad? I thought it was fool's
gold, so it seemed better to take a certainty for an uncertainty. I
sold my share in the mine to Olaf Svard for one hundred dollars.'

"He looked very downhearted, and the minister left him standing there
with tears in his eyes.

"When the minister reached home, he sent a servant to Olaf Svard and
his brother asking them to come to the manse that he might tell them
the nature of their find. He felt that he had had enough of trying to
spread the good news himself.

"But that evening, as the minister sat alone, joy again filled his
heart. He went out and stood upon a hillock where he had decided to
build the new parsonage. This, of course, should be very grand, as
grand as the bishop's home itself. He was not satisfied, moreover, with
the idea of repairing the old church. It occurred to him that, as there
was so much wealth in the hamlet, many people would find their way to
the place, until finally a large town would probably be built around
the mine. He reasoned that it would be necessary then to build a large
new church in place of the old one, which would require a great portion
of his riches. Neither could he stop here in his dreams, for he thought
that when the time came to dedicate this grand new church, the King and
many bishops would be there. The King would be glad to see such a
church, but he would remark that there were not fit accommodations to
be had in the town. It would be necessary, therefore, to build a castle
in the city."

At this point one of the King's courtiers opened the door of the study
and announced that the King's coach had been repaired.

The King thought at first that he would depart immediately but,
reconsidering, he said to the minister, "You may continue your story to
the end, but make it shorter. We know how the man dreamed and thought;
now we want to know what he did."

"While the minister sat in the midst of his dreams," went on the
speaker, "word came to him that Israels Pers Perrson had taken his life.
He could not endure the thought of his folly in selling his share of
the mine. He felt he would be unable to live and see from day to day
another enjoy the wealth that might have been his."

The King moved slightly in his chair. He now had both eyes wide open.
"Methinks," said he, "that had I been this minister, I should have had
enough of that mine."

"The King is a rich man; at least he has plenty. It was not so with the
minister, who owned nothing. This poor man, when he saw that God's
blessing appeared not to be with his undertaking, thought: 'I shall not
dream further about making myself prosperous and useful with these
riches. I cannot let the silver mine lie in the ground, however; I must
take out the ore for the poor and needy. I will work the silver mine to
help put the whole community on its feet.'

"One day the minister went over to Olaf Svard's to talk with him and
his brother about the best disposal of the mine. When he came near the
soldier's home, he met a cart surrounded by awe-stricken farmers.
Within the cart sat a man, his feet bound with a rope and his hands
behind him.

"As the minister passed, the cart stopped, giving the minister an
opportunity to observe the prisoner more closely. His head was bound
around so that it was hard to see him, but the minister thought he
recognized Olaf Svard. He heard the prisoner pleading with the guards
to let him speak with the minister.

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